THE 

MEMORIES' OF 
ROSE  EYTNGE 


THE    MEMORIES 


OF 


ROSE  EYTINGE 


The  MEMORIES  of 
ROSE  EYTINGE 

Being  RECOLLECTIONS  &  OB- 
SERVATIONS of  Men,  Women, 
and  Events,  during  half  a  century 


BY  ROSE    EYTINGE 


OF  .  / 

v    r;,4|  ,-ro«!^&^ 


NEW  YORK    -    FREDERICK    A. 
STOKES    COMPANY    •    PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,    1905         ^ 
BY  ROSE  EYTINGE 

All  rights  reserved 
PUBLISHED  IN  NOVEMBER,  1905 


PRESS-WORK  BY 
THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

The  Stage  and  Its  Influences — My  First  Engagement 
— The  Installment  System — -A  Sabbatarian 
Boarding-House — "Bread  Eaten  in  Secret" — 
My  First  "Heavy"  Part,  and  My  First  Train..  3 

CHAPTER  II 

The  Green  Street  Theatre,  Albany — The  Dignity  of 
Leading  Woman — Dressmaking — An  Acrid  but 
Kindly  Landlady 12 

CHAPTER  III 

Old-Time  Stars — Julia  Dean — Charlotte  Crampton — 
Ada  Clare — Bohemia 17 

CHAPTER  IV 

Abraham  Lincoln — The  Prince  of  Wales — Fernando 
Wood — Thurlow  Weed — Hugh  Hastings — Daniel 
S.  Dickinson  and  Mrs.  Dickinson 23 

CHAPTER  V 

Edwin  Booth — The  Crime  of  John  Wilkes  Booth  and 

the  Disposition  of  His  Remains 28 


214419 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VI 

PAGE 

Glimpses  of  Royalty — The  Prince  of  Wales — Chinese 
Diplomats  — The  Boston  Theatre  —  Old-Time 
Theatrical  Salaries 36 

CHAPTER  VII 

My  First  "  Row  "  with  a  Manager — E.  L.  Davenport 
and  J.  W.  Wallack — A  Realistic  Desdemona 41 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Mrs.  Davenport — Edward  House — Poetry  at  Short 
Notice — "Enoch  Arden" — "The  Man  in  the 
Iron  Mask" 49 

CHAPTER  IX 

Fanny  Davenport — The  Old  House  in  Bulfmch  Place, 
Boston — An  Assemblage  of  Notables 56 

CHAPTER  X 

The  New  England  Circuit— A  Put-Up  Job— Misad- 
ventures in  New  Bedford 61 

CHAPTER  XI 

Washington  in  War-Time — "Contrabands"  Defined 
— Uncle  Sam's  Soldiers — Patriotic  Songs — Tom 
Placide— Wallack  and  Davenport— Distinguished 

Guests 69 

vi 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XII 

PAGE 

Abraham  Lincoln — William  Henry  Seward — Pla- 
cide's  Humour— "Still  Waters  Run  Deep"— 
Assassination  of  the  President — A  Night  of 
Terror 76 

CHAPTER  XIII 

New  York— Wallack's  Theatres-Nancy  Sykes— Lead- 
ing Woman  with  Lester  Wallack — Perfect  The- 
atrical Management — Mary  Gannon — Charles 
Dickens — Love  for  the  Stage 85 

CHAPTER  XIV 

My  First  Sea  Voyage — Captain  Judkins  and  the 
"  Scotia  " — Sea-Sickness — Goodwood  Races — The 
Prince  of  Wales  Again — In  the  Queen's  Box 
at  the  Opera — Smuggling — Rochester,  N.  Y. — 
A  Leading  Woman  in  a  Sad  Predicament 94 


CHAPTER  XV 

Toronto — "The  Heart  of  Midlothian" — A  Minister- 
ing Angel — Jeanie  Deans — A  Converted  Presby- 
terian— "She  Stoops  to  Conquer" — George  Hol- 
land as  Tony  Lumpkin 103 

vii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XVI 

PAGE 

Augustin  Daly  and  the  New  York  Theatre— "  Under 
the  Gaslight"— Davenport  in  Mischief— "Caste" 
— W.  J.  Florence— Mrs.  Gilbert  —  Starring — 
Newark,  N.  J. — Washington in 

CHAPTER  XVII 

London — Paris — Longchamps  and  the  Grand  Prix — 
Napoleon  III  and  the  Empress  Eugenie — Prin- 
cess Metternich — Prince  Pierre  Napoleon — Dr. 
Evans  —  Nubar  Pasha — Auber  and  Verdi  — 
Americans  in  Paris — Cora  Pearl 121 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

Royalty  and  Rank — Fontainebleau  and  "The  Black 
Eagle" — Across  the  Alps — Italy — Alexandria — 
The  American  Traveller — Ramleh — Cleopatra — 
The  Bawaub — A  Masculine  Chambermaid 1 30 

CHAPTER  XIX 

Love,  the  Great  Leveller — The  Servant  Problem  in 
Egypt — How  the  Grocer  Imported  His  Bride — 
Women  in  the  East — The  Harems — An  Oriental 
Lady's  Call  Upon  an  American  Woman — The 

Man  in  the  Case — Human  Nature 140 

viii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XX 

PAGE 

American  Patriotism — Woman's  Status  in  America 
and  the  East  Contrasted — Eunuchs — European 
Wives  of  Mohammedan  Magnates 150 

CHAPTER  XXI 

Egyptian  Dancing-Girls — The  Viceroy's  Mother — 
Oriental  Splendour — A  Nobleman  with  an'  Hallu- 
cination    156 

CHAPTER  XXII 

Tragedies  of  the  Harems — Sulyman  Pasha — From  a 
French  Cloister  to  an  Egyptian  Prison — Cherif 
Pasha  and  His  Unhappy  Wife 163 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

Verdi's  "Aida"  in  the  Cairo  Opera  House— A  Blaze 
of  Jewels — A  Cosmopolitan  Audience 177 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

Egyptian  Antiquities — A  Remarkable  Coincidence — 
A  Greek  Dog — A  Present  of  Mutton  "On  the 
Hoof"— A  Berber  Prince— The  Restoration  of  a 

Long-Lost  Child 182 

ix 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXV 

PAGE 

Sir  Henry  Bulwer — American  Officers  in  the  Khe- 
dive's Service — Stone  Pasha — Colonel  Thomas  W. 
Rhett — General  Sherman — Patriotism  Mollified 
by  Old  Associations — A  Meeting  of  One-Time 
Enemies 195 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

The  Fellaheen  of  Egypt — Taxation — "How  the  Other 
Half  Lives"  in  the  East — A  Bedouin  Family  at 
Ramleh — An  Arab  Mother-in-Law — Marriage  a  la 
Mode 206 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

Back  to  the  Stage — Shook  &  Palmer  and  the  Union 
Square  Theatre,  New  York — Charles  Thome — 
Dion  Boucicault — "Led  Astray" — "Blow  for 
Blow" — Marie  Wilkins 214 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"The  Two  Orphans" — "The  Lady  of  Lyons" — 
George  Rignold— "  Rose  Michel "— Steele  Mack- 
aye — John  Parselle  and  Charles  Thorne — Tom 
Taylor 230 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

Starring — Buying  Experience — The  West — Ben  De 
Bar— "Bob"  Miles— Mrs.  John  Drew— The  Lith- 
ograph Question — A  Sandwich  Man 241 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXX 

PAGE 

The  California  Theatre,  San  Francisco — John  Mc- 
Cullough  —  Julia  —  Lady  Macbeth  —  Camille — 
Mary  Anderson — "  East  Lynne" 249 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

Virginia  City — An  Audience  of  Miners — A  Midnight 
Ride  with  a  Guard  of  Honour — Down  in  a  Silver 
Mine 255 

CHAPTER  XXXII 

Reno — A  Western  Hotel — The  Reno  Theatre — Puri- 
fication    263 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Seeking  Rest  and  Finding  None — "Why  Don't  You 
go  into  Some  Decent  Business?" — New-Mown 
Hay — The  Properties  of  the  Reno  Theatre 270 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Salt  Lake  City — The  Guest  of  Brigham  Young — 
The  King  of  Utah — Polygamy 276 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

Playing  a  Boy's  Part  for  the  Only  Time — Cleopatra — 

Henry  Bergh's  Eulogy 281 

xi 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

PAGE 

London  and  Its  Notables — Tom  Taylor — The  Olym- 
pic Theatre — Beerbohm  Tree — The  Effect  of 
Too  Realistic  Acting — A  Noble  Lord's  Criticism 
— "Annie  Thomas" 288 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Wilkie  Collins— Charles  Reade— The  Influence  of 
Charles  Dickens — Nancy  Sykes  Converts  a  Bap- 
tist    296 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

Edmund  Yates — Robert  Buchanan — Mrs.  W.  E. 
Gladstone — Professor  Blackie — Palgrave  Simp- 
son   301 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 

Changes  in  the  Profession — Lucille  Western — Louis 

Aldrich — James  A.  Herne — Adah  Isaacs  Menken..  307 


xii 


THE    MEMORIES 

OF 

ROSE  EYTINGE 


THE  MEMORIES  OF 

ROSE    EYTINGE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  STAGE  AND  ITS  INFLUENCES  —  MY  FIRST  ENGAGE- 
MENT—  THE  INSTALLMENT  SYSTEM  —  A  SABBATARIAN 
BOARDING-HOUSE  —  "BREAD  EATEN  IN  SECRET"  — 
MY  FIRST  "HEAVY"  PART,  AND  MY  FIRST  TRAIN 

I  WONDER  why  it  is  that  stage-folk,  both  men 
and  women,  always  think  it  a  fine  thing  to  decry 
stage-life  to  the  young  man  or  woman  who 
thinks  of  entering  that  life.  They  must  know 
that  their  attempt  at  depreciation  is  not  just; 
that  the  life  which  they  decry  is  a  good  one. 
The  stage  brings  pleasure  and  brightness  to 
many  whose  lives  would  be  without  any  in- 
fluences more  elevating  than  workaday  inter- 
ests. It  brings  quick  returns  in  recognition  of 
talent,  and,  in  a  thousand  ways  makes  apparent 
its  superiority  as  a  vocation.  And  for  kindli- 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

ness,  good-fellowship,  a  willing  heart,  and  a 
ready  hand  to  help  each  other,  where  will 
these  virtues  be  found  developed  as  they  are 
among  the  players? 

When  I  was  a  slip  of  a  girl  I  went  upon 
the  stage. 

At  that  time  (a  happy  time!)  there  was  in 
New  York  —  and,  I  believe,  in  the  whole  United 
States  —  but  one  dramatic  agent.  This  was 
Charles  Parsloe  (father  of  the  late  Charles  Pars- 
loe,  better  known  as  The  Heathen  Chinee), 
who  had  an  office  in  Chambers  Street.  To 
him  I  went  and  asked  for  an  engagement. 
Evidently  I  impressed  him  favourably,  for  with- 
out any  difficulty  and  with  very  little  delay  he 
found  me  a  chance  to  go  to  Syracuse,  N.  Y., 
there  to  join  a  dramatic  stock  company  under 
the  management  of  Mr.  Geary  Hough. 

On  my  arrival  the  question  of  wardrobe 
promptly  presented  itself,  and  at  first  it  seemed 
a  very  serious  and  troublesome  problem;  but 
Mr.  Hough  speedily  found  a  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty. He  was  a  widower  of  recent  date,  and 
his  late  wife  had  been  his  leading  woman.  As 

4 


THE  INSTALLMENT  SYSTEM 

he  still  had  her  stage  wardrobe  intact,  and  as 
tailor-made  gowns  and  wrinkleless  robes  were 
not  then  the  vogue,  I  had  very  little  difficulty 
in  adapting  this  wardrobe  to  my  needs.  Ac- 
cordingly I  bought  the  garments  and  paid  for 
them  "on  the  installment  plan,"  Mr.  Hough 
deducting  from  my  salary  a  small  weekly  sum. 
I  have  often  wondered  since  if  Mr.  Hough  and 
I  were  the  pioneers  of  the  installment  system. 
If  so,  may  we  be  forgiven! 

In  this,  my  first  engagement,  I  was  drawing 
a  salary  of  seven  dollars  a  week,  and  it  might  be 
considered  that  my  life  was  one  of  hardship  and 
privation.  Not  at  all.  Money  was  worth  much 
more  then  than  it  is  now,  and  on  this  apparently 
small  salary  I  could  live  in  modest  comfort.  I 
lived  in  a  boarding-house,  in  which  also  dwelt 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank  Humphreys,  the  leading 
man  and  leading  woman  of  the  company,  to- 
gether with  several  others  of  its  members.  I  had 
a  pleasant,  comfortable  little  room,  with  board, 
fire,  and  light,  for  which  I  paid  three  dollars 
a  week,  and,  while  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that 
abundance  in  any  form  was  within  my  means, 

5 


ROSE    EYTfNGE 

I  suffered  no  privations.  The  table  was  fur- 
nished with  the  ordinary  boarding-house  fare, 
and  naturally  was  neither  so  abundant  nor  so 
luxurious  as  to  make  any  of  us  fear  gout. 

Our  only  really  hard  experience  was  on  Sun- 
clay.  The  landlady  was  a  strict  Sabbatarian 
and  would  have  no  food  cooked  on  that  day, 
and  so,  from  Saturday  night  until  Monday 
morning,  we,  her  helpless  prisoners,  virtuously 
and  virtually  starved  until,  in  a  blessed  hour, 
I  discovered  that  food  galore  was  stored  in  the 
cellar.  I  at  once  laid  my  discovery  before  Mr. 
Humphreys,  and  hope  dawned  upon  us. 

The  first  Sunday  after  our  discovery,  Mr. 
Humphreys,  armed  with  a  villainous-looking 
scimitar  (one  with  which  I  have  no  doubt,  many 
a  stage  murder  had  been  committed),  and  I, 
armed  with  a  lighted  candle  (a  juvenile  Lady 
Macbeth},  stole  at  midnight  in  the  stealthy 
silence  of  stockinged  feet,  down  to  the  cellar. 
There,  surrounded  by  the  bodies  of  our  des- 
tined victims,  which  were  suspended  against 
the  walls  upon  huge  hooks,  by  apples  which 
blushed  a  rosy  red  for  our  shame,  by  potatoes 
with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  us,  and  by  butter 

6 


BREAD  EATEN  IN  SECRET 

which  was  trying  to  smooth  away  our  iniqui- 
ties, we  committed  our  burglary. 

From  -  a  side  of  beef  Mr.  Humphreys  cut  a 
nice,  tender  steak  (not  at  all  the  sort  we  usually 
got)  and  from  the  loins  of  an  innocent  sheep 
some  sweet,  succulent  chops,  while  I  secured 
the  " trimmings," — bread  and  butter,  condi- 
ments, fruit;  in  fact  any  " unconsidered  trifle" 
I  could  lay  hands  upon. 

Then,  in  fear  and  trembling,  we  crept  up- 
stairs, laden  with  our  "loot,"  to  find  Mrs. 
Humphreys  paralysed  with  fear  and  filled  with 
reproaches  and  reprimands, —  but  also  with  a 
nice,  clear  fire. 

The  reader  may  picture  our  delight,  when, 
after  carefully  securing  the  door,  and  taking 
every  precaution  against  surprise,  we  broiled 
our  booty  upon  a  gridiron  improvised  from 
two  crossed  swords. 

Let  me  say  here  that  I  never  suffered  any  of 
those  perils  and  temptations  which,  we  are  told, 
beset  the  paths  of  girls  who  adopt  the  stage 
as  their  profession.  At  this  time  I  was  little 
more  than  a  child,  but  the  company  of  which 

7 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

I  found  myself  a  member  was  made  up  of 
good,  kind,  decent  folk.  Every  man  Jack  and 
woman  Jill  of  it  was  good  and  kind,  though 
they  did  not  fail  to  "pitch  into"  me  when  I 
deserved  such  treatment,  which  doubtless  was 
pretty  often.  Yet  never,  either  during  work- 
ing hours  in  the  theatre,  or  in  hours  of  rest  and 
relaxation  at  home,  did  I  hear  an  unseemly 
word  or  witness  an  unseemly  act. 

When  I  first  joined  the  company  an  accident 
fixed  my  position  in  it  most  agreeably.  The 
leading  man  wanted  to  play  "The  Old  Guard," 
and  I  was  cast  for  Melanie,  and  from  this  cir- 
cumstance my  "hall-mark"  of  leading  juvenile 
woman  was  established. 

With  especial  affection  I  remember  Mrs. 
Frank  Humphreys,  the  leading  woman  of  our 
company.  After  her  husband's  death  she  mar- 
ried William  Jamieson,  a  son  of  William  Jam- 
ieson  of  "Consuelo"  fame. 

I  played  my  first  "heavy"  part  in  this  com- 
pany. A  lurid  drama  called  "The  Wandering 


BORROWED  PLUMES 

Boys"  was  put  up.  Susan  Denim  was  the 
star;  some  actors  whom  I  cannot  remember 
played  the  boys;  and  I  was  cast  for  the  blood- 
thirsty Baroness  who  persecuted  them.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  this  Baroness  was  sup- 
posed to  be  a  person  whose  age  might  run 
from  fifty  years  up  (and  I  was  scarcely  fifteen) 
and  that  the  part  imperatively  demanded  a 
black- velvet  train. 

It  is  needless  to  say  I  did  not  possess  any 
such  splendid  equipment.  My  limited  salary  did 
not  permit  the  possibility  of  its  purchase,  and 
the  wardrobe  of  the  late  Mrs.  Hough  did  not 
contain  one.  What  was  to  be  done?  Mrs. 
Humphreys  came  to  my  rescue.  She  offered 
me  hers, —  a  new  one,  purchased  for  this  en- 
gagement, the  star  of  her  stage  wardrobe,  the 
apple  of  her  eye,  her  fetich, —  and  she  lent  it 
to  me.  Could  friendship  go  further? 

The  fateful  night  of  the  first  performance  of 
"The  Wandering  Boys"  arrived  —  that  is,  so 
far  as  the  public  was  concerned.  But  the  real 
performance  that  night  was  making  me  up  and 
dressing  me  for  the  part  of  the  Baroness.  This 
called  for  the  full  feminine  force  of  the  com- 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

pany,  and  they  all  filed  promptly  into  my  dress- 
ing-room and  the  work  began. 

My  hair  was  parted  in  a  straight  line  over  my 
nose,  plastered  down  over  my  ears,  and  spat- 
tered down  my  cheeks,  and  then  my  face  was 
"lined."  Looking  back  upon  my  face  as  it 
was  then,  I  have  no  doubt  that  those  same, 
carefully  drawn  and  shaded  lines,  instead  of 
producing  the  desired  effect  of  giving  me  an 
appearance  of  age,  only  served  to  accentuate 
its  youthfulness. 

The  ceremony  of  making-up  being  concluded, 
my  corps  of  attendants  proceeded  to  put  me 
into  the  black- velvet  train;  but  as  fast  as  they 
put  me  into  it  I  slipped  out  of  it, —  there  was 
so  much  of  the  train,  and  so  little  of  me!  In 
memory  I  can  still  see  those  dear,  kindly  folk, 
as  they  stood  around  me;  the  various  expres- 
sions of  hopelessness  with  which  I  was  re- 
garded in  the  matter  of  the  waist, —  such  a 
waste  of  waist  and  such  a  dearth  of  Baroness. 
But,  pinned  in  here  and  taken  in  there,  and, 
as  a  last  resort,  draped  in  black  lace  to  cover 
discrepancies,  I  was  finally  hustled  on  the  stage. 

Up  to  this  moment  I  had  been  an  interested 


10 


MY  FIRST  TRAIN 

spectator  rather  than  an  active  participant  in 
the  robing  act,  and  was  secretly  feeling  the 
keenest  delight  at  having  attained  the  dignity 
of  this,  my  first  train.  But  when  I  found  myself 
standing  on  the  stage,  and  saw  behind  me  that 
long,  black,  trailing  something  that  moved 
whenever  I  moved,  that  insisted  upon  following 
me,  that  would  be  dragged  after  me  wherever 
I  went,  I  conceived  a  sort  of  horror  of  it.  It 
seemed  to  my  overwrought  mind  that  it  was 
some  sort  of  a  hideous  dragon,  and  that  I  was 
its  victim,  condemned  to  drag  it  after  me  for 
the  rest  of  my  life.  I  dissolved  in  fears  and 
tears,  tears  which  of  course  must  have  removed 
from  my  face  all  those  carefully  traced  lines 
which  were  to  have  given  it  weight  and  age. 

Oh!  what  a  performance  I  must  have  given  of 
that  blood-thirsty  Baroness! 


ii 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  GREEN  STREET  THEATRE,  ALBANY  —  THE  DIGNITY  OF 
LEADING  WOMAN  —  DRESSMAKING — AN  ACRID  BUT 
KINDLY  LANDLADY 

THE  second  engagement  in  my  career  as  an 
actress  (which  I  also  obtained  through  the  good 
offices  of  Mr.  Parsloe)  was  at  the  Green  Street 
Theatre,  Albany,  and  by  this  time  my  status 
in  the  company  was  assured.  I  was  now  the 
" leading  woman,'1  or  perhaps  I  ought  rather 
to  say  that  I  played  the  leading  business.  Crude 
no  doubt,  a  good  deal  of  my  work  was,  for  I 
was  not  a  woman  at  all,  but  just  a  saucy  girl. 
Everybody  in  and  about  the  theatre  conspired 
to  spoil  me,  and  vied  with  each  other  in  being 
kind  to  me  and  helping  me. 

My  opening  part  was  that  of  Virginia,  in  sup- 
port of  J.  A.  Neafie's  Virginius.  I  knew  noth- 
ing about  Virginius,  and  still  less  about  Vir- 
ginia, and  the  more  I  learned  about  her  the 
more  frightened  I  became.  Besides,  I  had  no 

12 


DRESSMAKING 

costumes  for  the  part.  All  my  surplus  capital 
was  invested  in  unbleached  muslin  —  that  val- 
uable fabric,  cheese-cloth,  was  not  then  in- 
vented —  and  I  sat  up  all  night  for  a  couple  of 
nights  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  Miss 
Virginia's  costumes.  When  the  day  of  the  last 
rehearsal  and  the  performance  arrived,  what 
with  loss  of  sleep,  fatigue,  and  nervousness,  I 
was  in  rather  a  pitiful  plight.  I  could  not 
even  pull  myself  together  and  read  Virginia's 
lines,  much  less  speak  them.  Management, 
star  and  company  were  all  in  a  panic.  I  after- 
ward learned  that  a  member  of  the  company 
was  safe  in  a  dressing-room  at  night,  up  in  the 
lines,  and  ready  to  go  on  and  finish  the  per- 
formance when  I  should,  as  seemed  inevitable, 
fail. 

But  I  did  not  fail,  and  the  lady  did  not  go 
on. 

I  boarded  with  a  little  old  lady  who  made  up 
in  temper  what  she  lacked  in  proportions.  She 
certainly  could  not  have  weighed  more  than 
eighty  pounds,  but  it  was  enough!  And  she, 
too,  was  good  to  me.  To  be  sure,  it  was  in 

'3 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

rather  a  severe  and  disapproving  way,  espe- 
cially at  first,  but  she  thawed  in  time. 

She  never  would  have  taken  me  in  at  all  if  I 
had  not  gone  to  her  highly  recommended,  for 
she,  like  most  good  folk  who  know  nothing 
about  them,  disapproved  of  actresses,  and  when 
she  first  saw  me  she  snipped  acrimoniously, 
and  said:  " Humph!  you  ought  to  be  at  home 
and  going  to  school."  And  when  I  replied, 
with  more  tact  than  truth,  that  I  hoped  to  be 
at  home  with  her,  and  added  that  I  also  hoped 
to  make  the  theatre  my  school,  she  did  not 
seem  to  be  greatly  impressed;  but  she  said, 
grudgingly,  that  I  might  come,  and  she  would  try 
me.  And  she  did,  often  and  severely! 

She  gave  me  a  little  garret  room,  which  con- 
tained, among  other  comforts,  a  tiny  wood 
stove,  and  for  this  and  my  board  I  paid  her 
$3.50  a  week,  this  being  about  the  ordinary 
price  for  board  at  that  time. 

At  first  she  was  very  severe  with  me.  If  I  did 
not  get  down  for  breakfast  by  eight  o'clock  I 
got  it  cold,  or  not  at  all.  When  I  reached  home 
at  night  the  house  was  dark,  save  for  the  dim 
light  from  a  tiny  lamp  of  japanned  tin — I  can 

'4 


AN  ACRID  LANDLADY 

see  it  now  —  which  contained  about  a  gill  of 
oil.  My  instructions  were  to  bolt  the  front 
door,  and,  with  the  aid  of  this  lamp,  light  my- 
self up  to  my  room.  If  I  lingered  in  my  prep- 
arations for  bed  my  light  went  out. 

But  I  soon  changed  that.  I  provided  myself 
with  sperm  candles,  and,  after  carefully  lock- 
ing the  door,  I  produced  them  from  their  hiding- 
place  and  lighted  up.  If  my  old  chatelaine  had 
ever  discovered  this,  my  tenure  would  have 
been  brief,  for  she  would  have  expected  to  be 
burned  in  her  bed. 

Many  a  night  did  I  light  my  fire  and  candles, 
draw  my  little  table  up  beside  my  bed,  and 
ensconce  myself  therein  and  study, —  and  I  was 
never  burned. 

Slowly  my  tiny  tyrant  softened  toward  me. 
Once,  when  I  had  a  severe  cold,  she  sent  my 
breakfast  up  to  me.  I  could  not  have  been 
more  astonished  if  it  had  rained  larks!  Grad- 
ually this  delightful  innovation  became  a  habit. 
Then  there  began  to  appear  a  tiny  tray  con- 
taining a  little  luncheon,  flanking  the  little 
japanned  tin  lamp. 

Gradually  I  found  myself  admitted  to  the 
15 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

kitchen  on  baking-days,  and  when  Christmas 
goodies  were  in  course  of  preparation  I  was 
permitted  to  help  prepare  the  fruit  and  beat 
the  eggs. 

Then  there  came  a  tremendous  proposal.  I 
was  to  give  up  acting  and  come  and  live  with 
my  old  friend  —  indeed  she  had  proved  her- 
self a  true  friend  —  and  be  her  foster-daughter 
and  help  her  conduct  the  boarding-house, 
and  when  she  died  it,  and  all  else  she  was  pos- 
sessed of,  should  be  mine.  When  I  declined 
this  offer  she  did  not  resent  my  decision,  but  to 
the  last  was  my  dear,  kind,  if  somewhat  sharp 
and  acrid  friend. 


16 


CHAPTER  III 

OLD-TIME    STARS  —  JULIA    DEAN  —  CHARLOTTE    CRAMPTON 
—  ADA   CLARE  —  BOHEMIA 

VERY  hard  I  had  to  work  to  support  the  stars 
that  came  in  a  steady  procession  to  the  Green 
Street  Theatre.  Among  them  I  remember 
Julia  Dean,  surely  one  of  "the  sweetest  women 
e'er  drew  breath."  It  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of 
benediction  when  she  leaned  over  and  fixed 
her  soft,  gentle  eyes  upon  one. 

Greater  than  all  the  rest  was  Mrs.  Shaw.  She 
was  very  beautiful,  with  a  grand,  stately  sort 
of  beauty,  and  a  voice  like  the  rich  tones  of  an 
organ.  Never  shall  I  forget  her,  as  she  stood 
like  an  empress,  her  exquisitely  moulded  arm 
extended,  and  exclaimed:  "On  your  lives,  I 
charge  ye,  bring  Huon  back  to  me!" 

Then  there  were  old  Peter  Richings,  pompous 
and  puffy,  and  his  "daughter  Caroline,"  self- 
contained  and  supercilious,  but  a  sweet,  highly- 
cultivated  woman,  and,  notwithstanding  the 

'7 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

arduous  nature  of  her  profession,  a  most  ac- 
complished needlewoman. 

Among  others  were  William  Goodall,who  shone 
upon  the  dramatic  firmament  like  a  meteor, 
and  died  all  too  young;  Edward  Eddy,  so  many 
years  "the  darling  of  the  gods";  J.  J.  Proctor; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edmund  Connor;  Maggie  Mit- 
chell, and  many  others  whose  names  I  cannot 
now  recall. 

I  kept  up  with  this  procession  of  stars,  sup- 
porting them;  and  the  study  and  preparation 
of  my  costumes,  all  of  which  I  made  myself, 
made  the  work  very  hard ;  but  I  was  very  happy 
in  it,  and  everybody  praised  me,  and  surely  the 
strongest  incentive  to  work  is  praise. 

Of  course  I  had  my  troubles.  I  remember  one 
— a  fright  anent  Charlotte  Crampton,  a  great 
actress,  and  a  brilliant,  great-hearted  woman, 
but  very  excitable  and  apt  to  be  carried  to  ex- 
tremes in  her  acting  by  giving  too  full  scope 
to  her  emotions.  In  her  repertory  there  was 
a  melodrama  in  which  she  played  a  wronged 
and  neglected  wife,  and  I  the  siren  who  was  the 
occasion  of  her  grief.  The  third  act  closed 
with  my  death  at  her  hands  in  a  very  realistic 

18 


CHARLOTTE  CRAMPTON 

fashion.  I,  in  white,  was  awaiting  her  hus- 
band. Enter  to  me  Charlotte,  in  black,  and  in 
a  rage.  A  stormy  scene  followed,  which  cul- 
minated in  her  producing  a  carving-knife  and 
cutting  my  throat,  the  blood  spurting  over  my 
white  gown,  and  she  standing  over  me  in  tri- 
umph. When,  at  rehearsal,  Miss  Crampton 
demanded  a  real  carving-knife,  there  was  a  very 
vigorous  demur  on  the  part  of  the  stage-man- 
ager, but  the  star  insisted.  I  was  not  afraid. 
But  when  at  night  Charlotte  entered,  her  eyes 
afire,  and  her  frame  trembling  with  emotion,  I 
confess  to  some  tremors,  and  when,  after  being 
flung  to  the  floor,  I  saw  this  woman  with  blaz- 
ing eyes,  standing  over  me  brandishing  that 
dreadful  knife,  I  uttered  a  shriek  and  knew 
no  more. 

I  also  met  Ada  Clare.  How  beautiful  she  was ! 
When  she  came  I  knew  nothing  of  the  circum- 
stances, but  I  afterward  learned  that  it  was  the 
result  of  a  proposition  from  her  to  join  the  com- 
pany on  trial.  She  selected  for  her  appearance 
a  farce,— "The  Pet  of  the  Petticoats,"  I  think, 
—  she  playing  Virginie.  I  believe  she  made  this 
selection  because  it  was  a  French  dialect  part. 

19 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

She  went  to  the  theatre  directly  on  the  morning 
of  her  arrival  in  the  town,  but  as  I  did  not 
reach  the  theatre  until  after  she  had  left  it,  I 
missed  seeing  her  for  the  present.  However, 
I  found  the  company  entire  there,  and  they 
amused  themselves  by  proceeding  to  "take  a 
rise''  out  of  me.  They  told  me,  among  many 
other  things  of  like  sort,  which  I  cannot  now  re- 
member, that  I  had  better  go  at  once  and  ob- 
tain a  willow  wreath  to  wear  in  place  of  the 
crown  which  I  had  just  lost.  My  reign  was 
over.  The  girl  who  had  just  arrived  was  a 
much  prettier  girl  than  I ;  was  fair,  with  golden 
hair;  clever  —  far  more  clever  than  I  was;  and 
so  amiable;  not  a  bit  saucy, —  etc. 

I  remember  that  I  held  my  own  fairly  well 
during  this  fusillade,  and  though  in  my  heart 
I  felt  many  a  qualm,  I  opposed  a  bold  front  to 
their  attacks.  I  perched  upon  a  table  that  hap- 
pened to  have  been  left  on  the  stage,  and  there 
I  sat  and  swung  my  legs,  and,  with  a  saucy 
assumption  of  indifference,  flung  defiance  at 
them.  But  I  am  afraid  it  was  very  poor  coun- 
terfeiting. In  my  heart  I  was  sadly  frightened 
and  cast  down.  I  loved  those  folk,  and  I  be- 

20 


ADA  CLARE 

lieve  that  they  loved  me.  I  would  have  been 
very  sorry  to  have  found  myself  supplanted  in 
their  admiration  or  good  will. 

At  night  I  saw  Ada  Clare,  who  was  all  and 
more  than  they  had  said,  and  then,  as  through- 
out my  life,  I  have  always  done,  I  prostrated 
myself  before  the  altar  of  beauty.  So  far  from 
feeling  envious  of  her,  I  gave  her  my  warmest 
admiration,  my  love  and  allegiance. 

Not  very  long  after  this  Ada  Clare  and  I  were 
both  living  in  New  York.  Ada  had  installed 
herself  in  a  dainty  little  house  on  West  Forty- 
second  Street,  and  there,  of  a  Sunday  evening, 
could  be  found  a  group  of  men  and  women,  all 
of  whom  had  distinguished  themselves  in  va- 
rious avenues, —  in  literature,  art,  music,  drama, 
war,  philanthropy.  The  women  were  beau- 
tiful and  brilliant,  the  men  clever  and  dis- 
tinguished. I  cannot  remember  more  than  a 
few  of  these  people,  but  of  those  who  live  in 
my  memory  are  John  Clancey,  owner  and  editor 
of  the  "Leader,"  then  a  popular  weekly  paper; 
Stephen  Fiske;  William  Winter  and  his  wife, 
Lizzie  Campbell, —  then  boy  and  girl,  bride- 

21 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

groom  and  bride;  Peter  B.  Sweeney;  Mary 
Freeman  Goldbeck;  Fanny  Brown;  Walt 
Whitman;  Henry  Clapp;  William  Stuart;  Ed- 
ward H.  House;  and  many  others. 

This  was  Bohemia,  and  our  fairy-like,  beautiful 
young  hostess  was  its  queen.  A  veritable  queen 
she  was,  receiving  from  her  subjects  their  love 
and  loyalty,  which  she  won  by  her  quiet  sincer- 
ity and  unpretentious,  unconscious  dignity,  and 
drawing  from  each  member  of  her  court,  by 
her  gracious  presence,  all  that  was  best  in  them 
of  brilliancy,  kindliness,  courtesy,  and  wit. 


22 


CHAPTER  IV 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  —  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES —  FERNANDO 
WOOD  —  THURLOW  WEED  —  HUGH  HASTINGS  —  DANIEL 
S.  DICKINSON  AND  MRS.  DICKINSON 

IT  was  in  Albany  that  I  was  a  witness  to,  and  a 
participant  in,  two  occasions,  both  memorable, 
and  one  of  them  marking  an  epoch  in  this 
country's  history.  This  latter  was  the  passage 
of  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  through  the  old  Dutch 
city,  as  he  journeyed  from  his  Western  home 
to  Washington,  there  to  be  installed  as  an  im- 
mortal President  of  these  United  States. 

We  all  know  how  Abraham  Lincoln  looked. 
His  face  is  enshrined  in  our  memories,  as  his 
virtues  are  in  our  hearts;  but  certainly  my  first 
sight  of  that  extraordinary  man  was  a  startling 
experience.  He  sat  in  an  open  carriage;  and 
as,  from  time  to  time,  he  rose  to  bow  to  the  solid- 
ly massed  people  who  made  the  air  resonant 
with  their  welcoming  cheers,  the  impression 
that  he  gave  was  that  his  length  was  endless, 

23 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

And  his  hands!  Was  there  ever,  before  or 
since,  such  a  pair  of  hands?  There  did  not 
appear  to  be  any  wrist  in  the  scheme  of  his 
anatomy:  his  great  gnarled  hand  seemed  to  run 
straight  up  to  reach  his  long,  gaunt  arm. 

His  face!  It  was  rugged  and  rough;  but  from 
his  dark,  deep-set  eyes  there  shone,  and  about 
the  lines  of  his  mouth  there  played,  such  a 
tender  kindliness,  such  a  soft  influence,  that 
one  was  led  to  forget  his  personal  peculiarities 
and  to  feel  that  to  find  shelter  beneath  that 
benignant  gaze  would  be  to  find  safety. 

The  other  memorable  day  in  Albany  was  that 
on  which  the  Prince  of  Wales  visited  that  city. 

Of  course  we  are  all  good  republicans,  but 
there  is  no  denying  that  Americans  "dearly  love 
a  lord," — and  the  mere  sight  of  a  prince! 
Well, —  that  quiet,  staid,  Dutchly,  phlegmatic 
little  town  went  fairly  wild  at  the  sight  of  the 
slender,  fair-haired  boy.  The  neighbouring 
towns  for  miles  around  had,  apparently,  poured 
their  entire  populations  into  the  streets,  which 
were  black  with  people.  The  air  was  rent  with 
shouts;  the  wildest  enthusiasm  prevailed. 

24 


TWO  HISTORICAL  FIGURES 

And  the  enthusiasm  which  was  shown  that 
day  in  Albany  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  repeat- 
ed wherever  he  went,  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land.  It  was  a  testimony  of 
respect  to  his  mother;  a  greeting  of  love  and 
amity  from  the  American  republic  to  the  mother 
country:  a  cry  of  brotherhood;  a  clasp  of  hands 
across  the  sea,  the  destruction  of  revolutionary 
prejudice,  and  the  awakening  of  the  present 
spirit  of  alliance. 

As  I  write,  the  figures  of  several  people  whom 
I  met  in  Albany,  emerge  from  the  mists  of  my 
memory.  Of  these,  two  were  men  who,  each 
in  his  opposite  sphere,  left  a  deep  mark  on  the 
pages  of  contemporaneous  history.  One  was  a 
power  in  New  York  city  politics;  the  other 
wielded  a  great  influence  in  national  as  well 
as  in  State  and  city  affairs,  besides  reaching 
across  the  Atlantic. 

The  first  of  these  two  distinguished  men  was 
Fernando  Wood,  at  that  time  mayor  of  New 
York,  and  to  know  whom  was  to  understand 
the  secret  of  his  power.  He  had  every  quality 
and  personal  attribute  to  make  him  a  leader 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

of  men.  Strikingly  handsome,  though  at  this 
time  an  old  man,  his  was  the  straight,  slender 
figure  and  the  elastic  springy  walk  of  a  boy 
of  twenty ;  a  clear-cut  face,  aquiline  nose, 
piercing  dark  eyes,  with  heavy  well-marked 
brows,  silver-white  hair,  and  heavy  white  mous- 
tache. 

The  other  figure  of  this  notable  pair  is  the 
towering  person  of  Thurlow  Weed,  the  Warwick 
of  American  politics;  wielding  his  baton  of 
power  from  his  sanctum  in  the  office  of  the 
Albany  " Evening  Journal,"  of  which  powerful 
newspaper  he  was  editor  and  proprietor.  He 
also  was  a  man  of  singular  and  Impressive  ap- 
pearance. He  was  very  tall, —  so  tall,  indeed, 
and  so  slender,  that  in  standing  or  walking  he 
leaned  forward,  not  actually  stooping,  but  bend- 
ing, as  we  sometimes  see  a  slender  tree  bending 
before  a  light  breeze.  His  complexion  was 
dark,  and  his  faceVas  long  and  deeply  marked, 
with  deep-set,  dark  eyes  that  looked  out  in  a 
searching  way  from  under  heavy,  pent-house 
brows.  His  arms  and  hands  were  unusually 
long,  giving  him  a  powerful  reach;  indeed  he 
enjoyed  the  reputation  of  having  a  great  reach 

26 


THE    DICKINSONS 

to  strike  an  enemy,  but  it  was  also  said  of  him 
that  he  had  an  equally  long  reach  and  a  firm 
hold  with  which  to  help  a  friend. 

Another  man  who  was  a  power  in  the  politics 
of  the  State  of  New  York,  and  whom  I  met  in 
Albany,  was  Hugh  Hastings,  editor  and  pro- 
prietor of  the  Albany  " Knickerbocker";  and  I 
cannot  take  leave  of  this  quaint  old  city  without 
recording  my  loving  recollection  of  two  dear 
friends  whom  I  met  there,  whom  I  knew  after- 
ward in  their  beautiful,  hospitable  home  in 
Binghamton,  and  whose  love  and  friendship  I 
was  privileged  to  enjoy  until,  after  lives  spent 
in  good  deeds,  they  each  in  turn  lay  down  to 
rest  in  the  beauty  of  holiness.  The  world  is 
brightened  and  bettered  by  the  presence  of  such 
persons  as  Daniel  S.  Dickinson  and  his  wife. 


CHAPTER   V 

EDWIN  BOOTH  —  THE  CRIME  OF  JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH  AND 
THE   DISPOSITION   OF    HIS    REMAINS 

THE  finest  monument  that  any  man  could  wish 
to  have  erected  to  his  memory  is  that  which 
is  felt  and  voiced  by  every  one  who  ever  met 
Edwin  Booth,  bearing  testimony  to  his  gentle- 
ness, his  sweet  temper,  his  unvarying,  simple 
kindliness. 

When  I  first  met  Edwin  Booth  I  was  at  Niblo's 
Garden,  New  York,  playing  under  the  man- 
agement of  William  Wheatley.  I  took  the  part 
of  Blanche  de  Nevers  in  "The  Duke's  Motto," 
in  which  Mr.  Wheatley  himself  played  Lagar- 
dere,  with  his  catch-phrase,  "I  am  here,"  that 
obtained  such  a  widespread  popularity. 

Mr.  Booth  was  about  to  produce  at  that  thea- 
tre Tom  Taylor's  "A  Fool's  Revenge,"  and 
he  offered  me  the  part  of  Fiordilisa.  I  do  not 
know  if  the  piece  was  then  printed.  At  all 
events  I  did  not  see  a  printed  book,  but  studied 

28 


A    PICTURESQUE   COSTUME 

my  lines  from  a  written  part;  and  either  there 
was  nothing  in  the  lines  that  indicated  the  ob- 
scurity and  poverty  of  Bertuccio,  or  I  overlooked 
them.  So,  in  dressing  Fiordilisa,  I  let  my  love 
for  the  beautiful  and  the  picturesque  run  riot. 
I  designed  a  costume  for  her  which  was  strictly 
correct  in  that  it  was  mediaeval  Italian.  But 
it  was  composed  of  satin  and  rare  silver  em- 
broidery and  diaphanous  draperies.  As  I  was 
dressed  I  might  more  readily  have  been  taken 
for  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  the  reigning 
duke  than  for  the  child  of  the  court  fool. 

Being  dressed  (and,  truth  to  tell,  feeling  very 
well  satisfied  with  my  appearance),  I  went  to 
the  greenroom.  Thither,  shortly  after,  came 
Mr.  Booth.  When  he  saw  me  he  fell  back 
aghast.  In  great  surprise  I  inquired  the  cause 
of  his  amazement.  He  told  me  I  was  far  too 
richly  dressed  for  the  daughter  of  a  man  of  his 
rank,  and  he  explained  to  me  that  my  dress 
should  have  been  quiet  and  unobtrusive  and 
of  cheap  material. 

I  was  overwhelmed  with  shame, — in  fact  was 
on  the  verge  of  tears,—  when  the  dear,  gracious 
fellow  took  me  by  both  hands  and  turned  me 

29 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

round  about,  and,  with  an  amused  glint  in  his 
eye,  said:    "Well!  By  jingo,  the  result  of  our 
blunder  is  so  fine  I  think  we'll  have  to  let  it 
stand!" 
And  it  "stood"  during  the  run  of  the  piece. 

Some  time  after  this  engagement  —  I  think  it 
may  have  been  a  year  or  two  after  —  I  again 
played  with  Mr.  Booth,  this  time  at  the  Winter 
Garden,  New  York,  and  my  roles  embracing 
such  characters  as  Julie  de  Mauprat,  Maritana, 
the  Princess  in  "Ruy  Bias,"  and  very  possibly 
others. 

This  engagement  does  not  seem  to  be 
marked  in  my  memory  by  any  striking  events, 
but  to  have  covered  a  placid  period  of  duty 
done  and  salary  drawn, —  a  usually  satisfactory 
state  of  things,  but  possessing  no  hooks  upon 
which  to  hang  a  narrative.  I  may,  however, 
mention  one  incident  that  occurred  while  we 
were  rehearsing  "Richelieu."  Up  to  that  time 
it  had  been  the  custom  for  Francois  to  be 
dressed  as  a  courtier.  But  as  Bulwer  does  not 
introduce  in  his  drama  that  element  of  courtier 
and  soldier  that  history  tells  us  existed  in  the 

3° 


A   CHANGED   COSTUME 

Cardinal's  anteroom,  but  represents  him  as  be- 
ing attended  by  Joseph  and  Francois  only,  I  al- 
ways felt  that  the  dramatist's  intention  was  that 
Francois  should  be  an  acolyte  and  dedicated 
to  the  priesthood,  and  therefore  his  costume 
should  be  in  accord  with  that  idea. 

One  morning  at  rehearsal  I  mentioned  this 
thought  of  mine  to  Mr.  Booth.  His  usually 
languid  manner  quickened;  he  threw  back  his 
head ;  looked  sharply  at  me  for  a  moment ;  then 
went  to  the  wing  and  sent  the  call-boy  to  Mrs. 
Bohanan,  who  had  charge  of  the  wardrobe. 
On  her  appearance  Mr.  Booth  held  a  brief 
colloquy  with  her,  and,  when  " Richelieu"  was 
produced,  Francois  was  dressed  as  an  acolyte. 

Another  tiny  little  incident,  but  one  showing 
the  kindliness  of  Booth's  nature  and  his  some- 
times quaint  sense  of  humour,  occurred  during 
the  last  act  of  "Richelieu,"  when  the  Cardinal 
is  to  all  appearance  dying,  and  Julie,  in  a  par- 
oxysm of  grief,  has  flung  herself  upon  his  breast. 
Booth,  patting  my  head  with  paternal  tender- 
ness, whispered  to  me:  "There's  a  smudge 
of  black  on  the  end  of  your  nose:  be  still  while 

31 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

I  take  it  off."  And  while  Julie,  convulsed 
with  anguish,  lay  sobbing  on  the  Cardinal's 
breast,  he,  with  a  corner  of  his  Eminence's 
ermine,  removed  the  offending  smudge. 

Some  years  afterward,  Edwin  Booth  again 
made  overtures  to  me  to  join  his  forces,  and  his 
offer  was  a  very  liberal  one.  It  was  to  support 
him  in  his  own  repertory  at  the  evening  perform- 
ances, I  to  have  the  matinees  to  play  my  own 
pieces.  But  at  the  time  this  offer  was  made,  I 
was  starring  myself,  and  so  declined  it.  As 
with  many  of  the  things  which  I  have  done 
or  omitted  to  do,  I  have  since  regretted  my 
decision. 

I  have  no  doubt,  that,  if  I  cared  to  do  so, 
I  could  string  together  innumerable  anecdotes 
about  Edwin  Booth.  But  he  was  so  sensitive 
and  he  so  shrank  from  general  public  notice, 
that  it  seems  that  to  discuss  him  or  his  pe- 
culiarities would  be  to  take  a  liberty  with  his 
memory. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  close  of  that  Winter 
Garden  engagement,  I  think,  that  the  awful 

32 


A   NATIONAL    HORROR 

crime  of  John  Wilkes  Booth  shocked  the  world 
and  fell  upon  the  country  like  a  pall.  We 
all  remember  how  Edwin  Booth,  shrinking 
and  cowering  under  the  weight  of  that  great 
sin  and  shame,  for  which  he  was  in  no  way 
responsible,  but  the  consequences  of  which  he 
suffered  deeply  and  bitterly,  withdrew  himself 
from  the  world  and  avowed  his  determination 
never  to  appear  in  public  again,  and  how  it 
was  only  after  a  long  time,  and  after  not  only 
his  friends  and  admirers  but  the  whole  country 
clamoured  for  him,  that  he  reconsidered  that 
determination  and  consented  to  appear  again 
upon  the  stage. 

There  is  one  detail  of  that  great  horror  about 
which  I  can  speak  with  certainty,  —  the  dispo- 
sition which  was  eventually  made  of  the  body 
of  John  Wilkes  Booth.  Some  months  after 
the  close  of  the  terrible  tragedy,  when  public 
excitement  was  somewhat  allayed  and  public 
feeling  had  become  calmer,  the  body  of  John 
Wilkes  Booth  was  secretly  exhumed,  con- 
veyed to  Baltimore,  and  given  to  his  mother, 
who  —  poor  broken  -  hearted  woman !  —  had 
never  ceased  to  beg  for  it. 

33 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

This  favour  was  granted  to  Mrs.  Booth  by  the 
Government,  not  so  much  out  of  sympathy  for 
her,  but  as  an  expression  of  respect  for  her 
son  Edwin,  and  of  the  faith  which  the  nation 
had  in  him. 

It  is  not  possible  to  think  of  Edwin  Booth 
without  chastened  sorrow  and  sympathy.  His 
childhood  and  early  boyhood,  spent  largely  in 
wandering  about  the  country  with  his  father, — 
a  man  of  violent  temper  and  bad  habits,  with  a 
morose  and  gloomy  disposition,  and  whose 
moods  ran  sometimes  almost  into  madness, — 
could  not  have  been  very  happy.  The  death 
of  the  girl-wife  whom  he  adored,  while  he  was 
yet  little  more  than  a  boy,  left  Edwin  Booth 
heart-broken.  Then  came  crashing  down  upon 
his  devoted  head  the  awful  crime  of  his  brother, 
—a  crime  which  held  up  to  public  execration  all 
who  were  kin  to  the  wretched,  misguided  man. 
The  domestic  clouds  which  shadowed  Edwin 
Booth's  later  years,  I  feel  that  I,  in  common 
with  the  rest  of  the  world,  have  no  right  to 
discuss. 

We  who  loved  him  can  comfort  ourselves  only 

34 


EDWIN   BOOTH 

with  the  thought  that  he  had  his  compensation. 
Art,  his  mistress,  always  greeted  him  with 
smiles;  the  tragic  muse,  Melpomene,  never 
turned  away  from  him.  She  walked  with  him 
hand  in  hand  through  fields  where  lesser  mor- 
tals could  not  follow,  and  with  the  wreath  of 
willow  that  a  sorrowful  nation  laid  upon  his 
grave  there  were  also  mingled  the  leaves  of  the 
laurel. 


35 


CHAPTER   VI 

GLIMPSES  OF  ROYALTY  —  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES  —  CHI- 
NESE DIPLOMATS  —  THE  BOSTON  THEATRE  —  OLD-TIME 
THEATRICAL  SALARIES 

IT  has  been  my  fortune  on  more  than  one  oc- 
casion to  come  into  pretty  close  social  relations 
with  royalty  and  other  "high  and  mighty- 
nesses,"  and  I  am  afraid  I  must  be  sadly  de- 
ficient in  reverence;  for,  so  far  as  I  can  recollect, 
I  do  not  seem  to  have  found  myself  in  the  least 
abashed  or  overcome  by  these  experiences. 

My  first  sight  of  royalty  was  when  royalty 
dashed  into  my  presence.  I  think  it  was  when 
I  was  playing  at  Niblo's  Garden  that  I  attended 
a  ball  given  in  honour  of  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
and  possibly  I  am  the  only  feminine  survivor 
of  that  function  who  would,  without  torture, 
confess  that  she  did  not  dance  with  his  Royal 
Highness. 

But  I  did  eat  sandwiches  and  drink  wine  with 
him,  or,  to  be  correct,  he  did  so  eat  and  drink 
with  me. 

36 


GLIMPSES  OF   ROYALTY 

It  happened  this  way.  The  friends  whose  guest 
I  was  had  provided  these  refreshments  in  their 
box,  and,  being  also  friends  of  Colonel  San- 
derson, an  American  who  conducted  his  Royal 
Highness' s  American  tour,  that  gentleman 
brought  the  Prince  to  our  box,  more,  I  think,  to 
get  a  "bite  and  sup"  than  for  any  other  purpose. 

Introductions  followed  in  course,  and  as,  on  the 
entrance  of  the  royal  guest,  I  had  been  hastily 
installed  as  hostess,  we  hobnobbed  a  bit.  On 
taking  his  departure  the  Prince  very  gracefully 
said  that  if  I  ever  visited  his  "town"  he  would 
be  pleased  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportu- 
nity thus  afforded  him  to  return  my  hospitality. 
And  his  Royal  Highness  kept  his  word. 

When  I  - 

But  all  in  good  time.  When  I  arrive  in  Lon- 
don, which  will  not  be  for  a  while  yet,  I  will 
tell  the  whole  story. 

About  this  time  I  attended  another  great  ball 
given  by  the  city  government  to  some  "high 
and  mighty-nesses"  from  China,  and  held,  I 
think,  at  the  Academy  of  Music. 

Mr.  Burlingame,  whom  I  numbered  among 

37 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

my  friends,  had  been  sent  by  the  United  States 
Government  to  China  on  some  mission, —  I 
think  it  was  some  sort  of  "open  door"  to  per- 
mit "John"  to  come  to  this  country  whenever 
he  felt  so  disposed.  Parenthetically  I  might 
here  remark  that  when  one  sees  to  what  an 
extent  "John"  has  availed  himself  of  that 
privilege,  one  might  be  forgiven  for  wishing 
that  Mr.  Burlingame  had  stayed  at  home. 

However,  our  envoy  met  with  such  distin- 
guished success  in  the  accomplishment  of  his 
mission,  that  he  brought  home  with  him,  as 
proof  of  it,  a  choice  selection  of  "Great  Pan- 
jandrums, with  little  round  buttons  on  top," 
to  be  our  guests,  and  the  ball  which  is  now 
whirling  in  my  memory  was  given  in  their 
honour. 

I  did  not  dance  with  any  of  these  fine  speci- 
mens of  porcelain,  though  perhaps  the  fact  that 
I  failed  to  enjoy  the  privilege  was  because  these 
notables  did  not  want  to  dance.  They  would 
never  have  dreamed  of  doing  anything  so  un- 
dignified. Clad  in  robes  of  gorgeous  satin, 
which  were  ablaze  with  gold  and  silver  em- 
broideries and  sparkling  with  gems,  they  sat 

38 


THEATRICAL   SALARIES 

in  stately  magnificence  on  a  dais  at  the  head 
of  the  ballroom,  and  in  impassive  indolence 
watched  us  dance  and  enjoy  ourselves.  I  was 
afterward  told  that,  on  being  asked  their  opin- 
ion of  this  great  function,  they  had  expressed 
warm  admiration  for  the  affair,  but  they  were 
somewhat  surprised  to  observe  that  we  had 
exerted  ourselves  to  dance  for  their  amuse- 
ment, instead  of  having  our  slaves  perform  that 
arduous  duty. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  being  a  leading 
woman,  I  received  a  salary  of  twenty-five  dollars 
a  week,  and  a  very  good  salary  it  was,  with 
which  I  could  then  get  more  than  I  can  now 
with  five  times  that  amount.  So  I  was  greatly 
pleased  to  receive  from  the  Boston  Theatre, 
which  at  that  time  was  under  the  management 
of  Orlando  Tompkins  (father  of  the  present 
manager,  Eugene  Tompkins),  "Ben"  Thayer, 
and  Henry  C.  Jarrett,  an  offer  to  play  leading 
business  at  a  salary  of  forty  dollars  a  week. 

In  those  days  every  theatre  had  its  own  stock 
company,  and  "stars"  were  the  exception  rather 
than  the  rule. 

39 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

The  Boston  Theatre  offer  was  a  very  liberal 
one,  only  the  most  important  and  well-known 
people  commanding  fifty  or  sixty  dollars  a  week. 
The  highest  salary  ever  received  by  Mrs.  John 
Hoey,  who  for  several  seasons  was  the  leading 
woman  of  Wallack's  Theatre,  New  York,  was 
sixty  dollars  a  week.  Madeline  Henriques, 
who  followed  Mrs.  Hoey  in  that  position,  got 
a  "rise"  to  seventy-five  dollars.  I  made  a  still 
higher  jump,  my  salary  reaching  three  figures, 
and  I  was  the  first  leading  woman  in  this  coun- 
try, and,  I  think,  on  the  English-speaking  stage, 
who  had  ever  commanded  a  three-figure  salary. 
And  we  may  be  quite  sure  that  the  Continental 
stage  never  attained  the  Anglo-Saxon  standard 
of  liberality. 

I  gladly  accepted  the  Boston  Theatre  engage- 
ment which  also  marked  my  first  "  row  "  with  my 
managers.  I  have  had  many  since. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MY  FIRST  "ROW"  WITH  A  MANAGER — E.  L.  DAVENPORT  AND 
J.  W.  WALLACK — A  REALISTIC  DESDEMONA 

THAT  first  "row"  with  my  manager  led  to  very 
good  fortune  and  I  can  now  revert  to  it  with 
pleasure,  though  at  the  time  it  gave  me  great 
pain. 

One  clause  of  the  offer  made  me  by  the  Boston 
Theatre  management  was  that  I  should  not 
be  called  upon  to  support  feminine  stars,  but 
it  fell  out  that  in  the  opening  week  of  my  en- 
gagement the  management  presented  a  woman 
star.  She  was  a  pretty  woman  and  an  excel- 
lent and  popular  actress;  but  she  did  not  be- 
have well  to  me.  She  is  dead,  however,  and  I 
therefore  refrain  from  naming  her. 

She  opened  her  engagement  with  Sheridan 
Knowles's  play,  "The  Hunchback,"  she,  of 
course,  playing  Julia,  and  the  management 
asked  me,  as  a  favour,  to  waive  the  clause  in 
my  contract  to  which  I  have  referred,  and  to 
play  Helen.  I  consented. 

41 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

Late  in  the  day  of  performance  the  star  sent 
to  me,  in  great  distress  of  mind,  to  say  that  the 
trunk  which  contained  her  costumes  for  Julia 
could  not  be  found:  could  I  lend  her  some 
gowns?  I  at  once  placed  my  entire  wardrobe 
at  her  disposal.  It  was  not  a  very  munificent 
offer  at  that.  Its  limitations  were  soon  reached, 
and  I  settled  with  myself  that  I  would  wear 
whatever  she  did  not  select. 

At  the  last  moment  the  trunk  was  found,  and 
I  was  left  free  to  wear  my  own  gowns,  which 
were  all  quite  new  and  fresh  and  very  pretty. 
Quite  early  in  the  performance  it  became  un- 
mistakably apparent  that  both  my  gowns  and 
myself  were  very  well  liked  by  my  audience. 
As  a  consequence  the  star  conceived  a  violent 
dislike  for  me  and  proceeded  to  take  prompt 
measures  to  make  me  feel  it. 

"The  Hunchback"  was  so  well  received  that 
it  would  have  run  for  quite  a  while,  yet,  despite 
the  protests  of  the  management  and  the  wishes 
of  the  public,  another  play  in  the  repertory  of 
the  star  was  put  into  immediate  rehearsal,  and 
in  this  play,  in  which,  by  the  terms  of  my  con- 
tract, there  was  no  justification  for  demanding 

42 


TROUBLE  WITH  A  STAR 

my  appearance,  I  was  cast  for  an  unimportant 
part,  which  part  I  promptly  refused  to  play. 
The  lady  insisted  that  I  should  play  it;  I  was 
equally  firm  in  refusing  to  do  so;  and  the  result 
was  a  formal  note  from  the  management,  stat- 
ing that  a  continued  refusal  to  play  the  part 
assigned  me  would  compel  them  to  ask  for  my 
resignation. 

Perhaps  it  is  only  fair  to  say  here,  in  extenua- 
tion of  this  action  on  the  part  of  the  manage- 
ment (if  it  be  any)  that  afterward  they  individ- 
ually told  me  that  they  had  been  forced  into  the 
position  they  had  taken  against  me  by  the  fixed 
determination  of  the  star:  she  having  threat- 
ened to  bring  her  engagement  with  them  to  an 
abrupt  and  immediate  close  if  I  were  not  forced 
into  submission. 

Never  having  been  addicted  to  submission,  I 
chose  resignation,  the  tender  of  which,  being 
promptly  offered,  was  as  promptly  accepted. 
The  day  of  my  departure  arrived.  I  went  to 
the  treasurer's  office  to  request  payment  of  the 
salary  I  had  earned.  I  was  offered  a  portion 
of  my  due ;  and  on  my  protesting,  the  treasurer 
told  me  that  he  was  only  obeying  instructions. 

43 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

It  now  became  necessary  to  look  for  a  settle- 
ment of  my  claim  from  the  management.  I 
found  the  partners  on  the  stage,  talking  to  two 
men  whom  I  did  not  know.  As  they  declined 
in  any  way  to  reconsider  the  position  they  had 
taken,  or  to  make  any  more  equitable  arrange- 
ment, I  told  them  with  more  impetuosity  than 
courtesy,  that  their  action  indicated  that  their 
pecuniary  condition  must  indeed  be  desperate, 
since,  in  order  to  replenish  their  treasury,  they 
found  themselves  forced  to  take  possession  of 
so  small  a  sum  as  a  portion  of  my  salary.  I 
therefore  begged  them  to  accept  the  whole 
amount,  and,  putting  the  envelope  containing 
the  money  on  the  "prompt"  table,  I  marched  off, 
leaving  the  managers  embarrassed  and  the  visit- 
ing men  astonished,  and  returned  to  my  hotel. 
I  had  been  there  only  a  short  time  when  I 
received  two  cards:  "MR.  E.  L.  DAVENPORT" 
and  "MR.  J.  W.  WALLACK."  On  going  to  the 
parlour  to  receive  these  distinguished  men, 
neither  of  whom  I  had  ever  met,  I  found  await- 
ing me  the  two  gentlemen  whom  I  had  aston- 
ished so  short  a  time  before  on  the  stage  of  the 
Boston  Theatre. 

44 


DAVENPORT  AND  WALLACK 

Their  object  in  calling  was  to  make  me  an  offer 
to  join  them.  They  named  a  generous  salary, 
one  far  in  advance  of  that  for  which  I  had  con- 
tracted at  the  Boston  Theatre,  but  no  details 
were  discussed. 

They  only  said,  almost  in  so  many  words: 
"  We  are  pleased  with  your  work  as  an  actress; 
we  feel  quite  sure  we  will  like  you ;  we  hope  you 
will  like  us;  we  will  do  all  in  our  power  to  ad- 
vance your  interests  as  an  actress,  and  we  will  re- 
spect and  protect  you  as  a  woman.  Come  to  us." 

I  said,  "I  will."  And  I  did.  That  day  on 
which  I  joined  Davenport  and  Wallack  was 
the  best  day's  work  I  ever  did  for  myself.  They 
more  than  redeemed  all  their  promises. 

To  say  that  they  were  good  to  me  is  to  say 
too  little;  to  try  to  express  the  friendship  and 
the  affection  that  existed  between  us  is  not  possi- 
ble; and  this  friendship  grew  and  strengthened 
with  years  until  it  was  snapped  asunder  by  their 
deaths. 

There  is  no  denying  that  they  both  treated 
me  like  a  spoiled  child.  They  fostered  my  wil- 
fulness  by  yielding  to  it;  they  acceded  to  my 
wishes,  often  to  my  whims,  in  business  and 

45 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

out.  If  one  of  them  attempted  to  call  me  to 
account  for  some  neglect  of  duty,  which  I  have 
no  doubt  richly  deserved  rebuke,  the  other  was 
sure  to  interfere  and  put  a  stop  to  the  well- 
deserved  scolding. 

Scenes  of  this  sort  were  by  no  means  uncom- 
mon. Mr.  Wallack  would  set  out  to  take  me 
to  task  for  some  flagrant  offence.  Mr.  Daven- 
port would  step  up  and  say:  "There,  there, 
Jim,  don't  fret  the  child.  I'll  talk  to  her."  Or, 
Mr.  Davenport  would  make  a  like  attempt  when 
Mr.  Wallack,  after  listening  for  a  moment  in  pa- 
tient silence,  would  break  out  something  like 
this:  "Ned,  can't  you  see  that  you  are  upset- 
ting that  child's  nerves  and  breaking  her  spirits  ?" 

So,  between  them,  I  was  thoroughly  spoiled. 

The  result  of  this  treatment  was  that  I  loved 
them  both  dearly,  and  I  worked  hard  not 
nearly  so  much  that  I  might  win  praise  from 
press  and  public,  as  to  please  them. 

To  hear  Davenport,  after  a  scene,  say,  "  Good 
girl!"  or  to  have  Wallack  pat  me  tenderly  on 
the  shoulder  and  say,  "She  's  head  and  shoul- 
ders over  'em  all,  now!"  was  to  my  mind  my 
highest  reward. 

46 


MRS.  WALLACK 

What  a  comfortable,  jolly  life  was  mine, 
with  these  kindly  men! 

My  first  week,  playing  opposite  parts  to  them, 
was  a  very  hard-working  one.  I  opened  with 
them  at  the  Boston  Theatre.  Mrs.  Wallack 
was  with  the  company.  She  did  not  travel 
continuously  with  her  husband,  but  joined  him 
only  at  such  times  as  her  services  were  required 
to  play  some  important  part.  Otherwise  she 
stopped  at  their  home  in  Long  Branch.  At 
this  time  her  presence  was  required  for  Emilia, 
as  it  was  intended  to  present  "Othello,"  a  very 
fortunate  circumstance  for  me,  as  it  afterward 
proved.  She  was  a  great  actress,  had  a  strong, 
noble  face,  a  fine  physique,  and  a  stately  car- 
riage, and  one  of  the  loveliest  voices  I  ever 
listened  to. 

In  that  first  week  the  bill  was  changed  night- 
ly, and  from  night  to  night  I  studied  six  lead- 
ing parts,  necessitating  my  sitting  up  till  three 
or  four  o'clock  every  morning,  with  my  head 
tied  up  in  wet  towels  and  drinking  strong  tea. 

Wallack  and  Davenport  knew  nothing  of  this 
until  the  week's  work  was  over,  and  then — 

47 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

how  they  did  scold  me!  But,  I  argued  with 
myself,  I  had  engaged  with  them  to  play  their 
leading  business.  I  ought  to  have  been  "up" 
in  all  these  parts,  and  I  was  afraid,  if  I  con- 
fessed that  I  was  not,  that  I  might  lose  the  en- 
gagement. So,  keeping  my  own  counsel,  and 
taking  nobody  into  my  confidence,  I  did  the 
work.  As  a  consequence,  by  Saturday  night 
I  was  thoroughly  exhausted,  physically  and 
mentally;  and  but  for  the  kindness  of  Mrs. 
Wallack  I  would  have  gone  to  pieces. 

The  play  was  "  Othello. "  Mrs.  Wallack  said, 
early  in  the  evening,  that  I  was  ill,  and  in  all 
our  scenes  together  she  was  most  thoughtful 
and  helpful.  When  I  forgot  my  lines  she 
prompted  me,  and  when,  as  often  happened, 
I  was  too  dazed  and  brain-weary  to  "take  the 
word,"  she  covered  up  my  shortcomings  with 
her  own  rare  work.  In  short,  she  "pulled  me 
through." 

But  I  fell  with  the  curtain.  When  that  came 
down  upon  the  last  scene,  Desdemona  evinced 
no  inclination  to  rise  from  the  bed  in  which 
Othello  had  smothered  her,  and  it  began  to  look 
as  if  the  Moor  had  really  finished  her. 

48 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MRS.  DAVENPORT — EDWARD  HOUSE  —  POETRY  AT  SHORT 
NOTICE  —  "ENOCH  ARDEN" —  "THE  MAN  IN  THE  IRON 
MASK" 

I  DO  not  remember  the  order  of  work  done  by 
the  Wallack  and  Davenport  combination,  of 
which  I  was  the  third  member,  but  I  do  recol- 
lect that  we  played  a  number  of  engagements 
in  Boston.  Mr.  Davenport's  house  was  in  Rox- 
bury,  where  his  family,  consisting  of  his  wife 
and  six  daughters,  lived.  His  sons  had  not 
yet  appeared  upon  this  mortal  stage.  Mrs. 
Davenport  was  a  member  of  the  stock  company 
at  the  Boston  Museum,  whose  performance 
was  usually  shorter  than  ours.  Thus  she  was 
enabled  to  come  to  our  theatre  at  the  close  of 
her  evening's  work,  and  would  often  be  in  time 
to  witness  our  last  act. 

Davenport  and  Wallack  frequently  alternated 
the  principal  roles,  thus  Wallack  would  play 
Othello  and  Davenport  lago,  and  vice  versa. 
The  same  was  the  case  with  "Macbeth"  and 

49 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

other  pieces.  On  one  occasion  —  "Othello" 
being  the  bill,  with  Davenport  as  the  Moor  — 
Mrs.  Davenport,  when  the  curtain  fell,  rushed 
upon  the  stage,  flung  herself  into  her  husband's 
arms,  and  overwhelmed  him  with  caresses  and 
praises.  I,  on  rising  from  the  bed  on  which  a 
short  time  before  I  had  been  smothered,  caught 
sight  of  my  face  in  a  near-by  mirror.  Between 
my  nose  and  my  chin  I  discovered  that  my  face 
had  taken  on  the  complexion  of  Othello,  but 
this  discovery  did  not  greatly  surprise  me. 
Nevertheless,  as  I  passed  the  Davenport  group 
I  drew  Mrs.  Davenport's  attention  to  the  cir- 
cumstance and  said:  "Look  what  your  hus- 
band did."  Davenport,  in  no  whit  embar- 
rassed, replied:  "Yes,  I  set  my  mark  upon 
her." 

It  was  at  the  Boston  Theatre  that  we  pro- 
duced a  dramatic  version  of  "The  Lady  of  the 
Lake."  Scott's  text  was  carefully  preserved, 
the  only  change  made  being  the  dividing  of 
the  poem  into  acts  and  scenes,  but  at  the  end  of 
the  piece  a  difficulty  arose. 

After  the  duel  in  which  James  FitzJames  kills 
50 


EDWARD  H.  HOUSE 

Roderick  Dhu,  it  was  felt  that  the  curtain  could 
not  be  brought  down  happily  while  the  van- 
quished chieftain's  dead  body  lay  at  our  feet. 
Nor  could  it  be  removed  without  a  motive, 
which  at  that  point  the  poem  did  not  offer. 
Just  then  Edward  H.  House  (better  known  as 
"Ned"  House)  sent  in  his  card.  His  presence 
offered  a  solution  of  our  difficulty.  He  was 
admitted,  and  was  welcomed  with  enthusiasm. 
Greetings  over,  we  explained  our  dilemma,  and 
suggested  his  writing  a  few  lines  in  strict  Scott 
metre,  which  should  furnish  a  pretext  for  Roder- 
ick's followers  to  bear  him  off  to  honoured  but 
unseen  burial.  House,  taken  completely  by 
surprise,  very  naturally  demurred,  pleading 
utter  lack  of  preparation,  and  unfavourable  con- 
ditions for  wooing  the  Muse. 

But  he  was  reminded  that  he  had  intruded  on 
a  Highland  stronghold  where  might  was  right. 
In  short,  he  was  besought  and  bullied  and 
urged,  and  finally  was  hustled  into  a  little  room 
on  the  stage,  half  dressing-room,  half  office, 
where,  after  having  been  provided  with  paper 
and  pencil,  the  door  was  locked  upon  him. 
Warning  was  conveyed  to  him  through  a  broken 

5' 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

window  that  his  release  depended  upon  his  pro- 
duction of  the  required  lines.  Persuasion, 
entreaty,  pleading  of  important  engagements, 
were  alike  in  vain;  and  at  last  he  complied  with 
the  rigorous  demands  of  his  captors. 

I  forget  the  entire  stanza,  but  it  ended  with  the 
following  lines,  spoken  by  the  victorious  Fitz- 
James: 

"Now  hard  by  Coilantogle  Ford 
The  chieftain's  corse  lies  on  the  sward; 
It  is  not  meet  so  great  a  foe 
Untended  by  his  clan  should  go. 
Summon  his  henchmen  tried  and  true, 
To  bear  away  brave  Roderick  Dhu." 

Then  the  triumphant  king,  the  vanquished 
chief,  timely  bard,  and  —  I  beg  to  add  —  Ellen, 
the  Lady  o)  the  Lake,  all  adjourned  to  luncheon. 

It  was  at  the  Boston  Theatre  also  that  we  pro- 
duced a  dramatic  version  of  Tennyson's  "Enoch 
Arden."  Here  again  the  lines  of  the  original 
poem  were  retained.  Wallack  played  Enoch, 
Davenport  Philip  Ray,  and  I  Annie  Lee.  Both 
were  delightful  in  their  respective  roles.  Dav- 
enport, in  the  soft  grey  tints  of  the  miller's  garb 

52 


WALLACK  IN  "ENOCH  ARDEN" 

and  the  large  soft  grey  hat,  which  made  such 
a  fine  background  for  his  handsome  face  and 
his  kindly  blue  eyes,  was  a  picture. 

It  is  not  possible  to  imagine  anything  more 
pathetic  than  Wallack's  picture  of  Enoch  Arden 
upon  the  lonely  island,  or  the  desolate  cadence 
of  his  voice  as  he  said: 

"The  blaze  upon  the  waters  to  the  east; 
The  blaze  upon  the  waters  overhead; 
The  blaze  upon  the  waters  to  the  west; 

The  scarlet  shafts  of  sunrise  —  but  no  sail." 

Another  scene  was  inexpressibly  sad, —  that 
in  which  Enoch  returns  to  his  native  village,  to 
find  Annie  —  his  wife — "his  wife  no  more," 
but  married  to  Philip,  living  with  his  children 
and  Philip's  child  in  peace  and  plenty. 

The  stage  was  divided  down  centre :  one  side 
representing  Philip's  home, —  a  cosy  interior, 
ruddy  with  firelight  and  bright  with  happy 
faces,  the  daughter  singing,  and  everything 
typical  of  comfort  and  happiness;  the  other 
showing  the  road,  bleak,  cold,  and  dark,  and 
Enoch  peering  in  at  the  window;  then,  flinging 

53 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

himself  upon  the  ground,  crying  to  God  in 
heartbroken  accents  for  strength  — 

"Not  to  tell  her,  never  to  let  her  know." 

It  was  here,  too,  that  I  first  played  Hortense 
in  "The  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask."  Mr.  Wai- 
lack,  who  played  The  Man,  was  most  explicit 
and  emphatic  in  his  instructions  as  to  my  work 
in  Hortense,  particularly  concerning  the  fourth 
act,  in  which  I  was  to  get  my  first  glimpse  of 
the  unfortunate  prisoner.  He  told  me  to  make 
my  entrance  from  left,  looking  off  left,  as  if 
continuing  my  farewell  to  some  unseen  person, 
and  carefully  to  avoid  seeing  him  — The  Man 
in  the  Iron  Mask  —  until  I  reached  the  centre 
of  the  stage  and  actually  bumped  against  him. 
I  was  then  to  turn,  see  him,  throw  my  hands  up, 
and,  with  a  wild  shriek  of  terror,  fly  from  him 
down  to  the  extreme  left  corner. 

At  night  I  carefully  obeyed  these  instructions. 
When  I  turned  and  saw  before  me  a  ghastly 
figure,  clad  from  throat  to  feet  in  dull,  rusty, 
close-fitting  black;  his  hands,  bloodless  and 
fleshless,  hanging  supinely  at  his  sides;  his 
head,  and  neck  and  shoulders  completely  cov- 

54 


OBEYING  INSTRUCTIONS 

ered  by  an  iron  casque,  I  for  the  first,  and  I 
believe  the  only  time  in  my  life,  gave  way  to 
terror. 

I  forgot  that  it  was  Mr.  Wallack,  forgot  where 
I  was,  forgot  everything.  Uttering  a  shriek,  I 
fled,  I  knew  not  where,  anywhere  to  escape  that 
dreadful  Thing!  I  was  stopped  in  my  wild 
progress  only  by  bringing  up  against  the  stage 
box,  and  then  I  was  recalled  to  a  realisation  of 
the  situation  by  the  applause.  Never,  either 
before  or  since,  have  I  received  such  recognition 
and  its  long  continuance  saved  me.  It  gave 
me  time  to  recover  myself,  to  take  up  the  scene, 
and  to  play  it  to  an  end.  Again  and  again  the 
curtain  was  taken  up,  that  we  might  acknowl- 
edge the  applause  which  was  showered  upon 
Mr.  Wallack  and  myself;  and  after  the  curtain 
fell  I  was  overwhelmed  by  praise  from  Wal- 
lack, Davenport, —  everybody. 

For  me,  I  just  held  my  tongue. 


55 


CHAPTER  IX 

FANNY  DAVENPORT  —  THE  OLD  HOUSE  IN  BULFINCH  PLACE, 
BOSTON  —  AN  ASSEMBLAGE  OF  NOTABLES 

IT  was  while  I  was  playing  in  Boston  with 
Wallack  and  Davenport  that  Fanny  Daven- 
port made  her  appearance  as  a  grown-up  actress. 
We  were  playing  at  the  Tremont  Temple,  that 
being  the  only  place  in  the  way  of  a  theatre 
that  we  could  secure  at  the  time. 

Fanny,  in  common  with  her  younger  sisters, 
had  often  played  children's  parts  with  her 
parents,  but,  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  the  nearest 
approach  that  she  could  make  to  the  stage  was 
through  her  mother's  dressing-room  at  the 
Boston  Museum.  We  were  playing  Dion  Bou- 
cicault's  comedy,  "How  She  Loves  Him." 
The  actress  that  played  Mrs.  Vacil  was  sud- 
denly called  away  by  illness  in  her  family,  and 
there  was  nobody  to  play  the  part;  the  local 
management  objected  to  any  change  of  bill, 
and  we  were  in  a  quandary. 

In  this  dilemma  Fanny  saw  her  opportunity 


THE  ACTORS'  MECCA 

and  eagerly  seized  upon  it.  She  besought  her 
father  to  allow  her  to  play  Mrs.  Vacil,  and  he 
promptly  pooh-poohed  the  idea.  Fanny  came 
to  me  and  entreated  my  influence.  I  said  she 
should  not  play  Mrs.  Vacil,  that  I  would  play 
that  part,  and  she  should  play  Atlanta  Cruiser. 
And  she  did. 

It  was  with  Davenport  and  Wallack  that  I 
first  went  to  stop  at  2  Bulfinch  Place,  Boston. 
This  house  was  the  actors'  Mecca.  Only  the 
elect  were  admitted  there,  and  it  would  have 
been  a  serious  mistake  to  have  referred  to  it  as 
a  boarding-house. 

One  was  the  "guest"  of  Amelia  Fisher,  the 
quaint  little  hostess,  but  at  the  end  of  each 
week  a  mysterious  little  memorandum  found 
its  way  into  one's  morning  paper,  showing  in- 
debtedness to  Amelia  about  equal  to  the  charges 
of  a  first-class  hotel. 

But  no  amount  of  money  would  have  been  too 
much  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  meeting  the 
company  which  from  time  to  time  came  there. 

First,  there  was  that  old  Boston  favourite,  Wil- 
liam Warren.  He  had  lived  at  Bulfinch  Place, 

57 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

as  he  had  acted  at  the  Boston  Museum,  fifty 
years.  He  was  the  only  man  ever  permitted 
to  carry  a  latch-key.  It  was  a  quaint  old  house 
in  a  quaint  old  no-thoroughfare  street,  with  a 
great  beam  padlocked  across  one  end,  by  means 
of  which  the  dwellers  in  the  street  lived  secure 
from  the  fear  of  intrusion  of  the  vulgar  dray 
or  the  iconoclastic  express  wagon  upon  their 
exclusive  cobblestones. 

It  was  a  broad-fronted,  shallow  house,  and, 
no  doubt,  when  originally  built,  it  stood  in  a 
pretty  garden,  but  this  had  long  since  disap- 
peared. At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  it  was 
crowded  on  all  sides  by  more  modern  and  more 
pretentious  houses,  while  the  garden  had  shrunk 
to  a  damp,  narrow,  flagged  space  in  which  were 
a  few  dejected,  postpcned-dying,  lingering, 
hopeless  prisoners  in  a  melancholy  wire  stand. 

The  house  seemed  to  have  taken  warning 
from  Lot's  wife,  and  refrained  from  looking  back. 
Every  "window  in  the  rear  had  been  blinded  .by 
various  ingenious  contrivances.  I  remember 
one  room  in  particular.  It  contained  two  win- 
dows, each  of  about  thirty  small  panes  of  glass. 
The  original  panes  had  been  removed,  looking- 

58 


BULFINCH   PLACE 

glass  being  substituted,  and  when  the  occupant 
moved  about  this  room  in  a  dim  light  —  the 
light  was  always  dim  in  Bulfinch  Place  —  it 
produced  a  curious  effect.  It  was  as  though 
one  were  trying  to  escape  from  a  company  of 
one's  own  ghosts.  The  house  was  old-fash- 
ioned, and  in  many  details  lacked  the  appli- 
ances for  warmth  and  comfort  to  be  found  in 
modern  houses,  but  the  cleanliness,  cosiness, 
good  cheer,  and,  above  all,  the  people  to  be 
met,  and  the  talk  to  be  heard  in  two  rooms  in 
that  house,  made  it  a  most  desirable  place. 

One  of  these  rooms  was  the  long  front  room 
on  the  ground  floor,  with  two  windows  which 
looked  out  on  Bulfinch  Place.  It  had  a  high- 
shouldered,  narrow,  Colonial  chimney-piece  at 
one  end,  and  a  "kit-kat"  portrait  of  William 
Warren  in  a  sky-blue  cravat  at  the  other.  The 
intervening  spaces  on  the  walls  at  either  side 
were  filled  with  representations  and  autographed 
pictures  of  actors  and  actresses  of  the  past  and 
the  (then)  present.  This  room  served  the 
double  purpose  of  sitting-room  and  dining-room. 
But  the  real  point  of  delight,  of  rest,  of  cheer 
and  mirth,  was  the  kitchen.  This  was  directly 

59 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

in  the  rear  of  the  sitting-room,  and  in  the  day- 
time, with  its  one  window  looking  out  on  the 
melancholy  little  paved  courtyard,  was  not  a 
cheerful  room.  But  at  night,  with  the  curtain 
drawn  close  over  the  lower  sash,  the  high,  old 
chimney-piece  set  out  with  old  Delft  mugs  and 
jugs,  a  clear  fire  in  the  brightly  polished  stove, 
the  flour-barrel  very  much  in  evidence,  dressed 
in  a  gaily  flowered  chintz  gown,  and  with  its 
cleanly  swept  hearth,  it  was  an  ideal  room. 

How  well  I  remember  how  the  bright  dish- 
covers,  hanging  from  the  wall,  reflected  our 
faces  upside  down.  And  here,  when,  of  a 
night,  we  wayfarers  came  in  from  our  sev- 
eral " shops,"  and  met  there  for  supper,  there 
was  talk, —  that  sort  of  talk  where  every  one 
who  talked  had  something  to  say,  a  condition 
to  which  there  are  unfortunately  many  excep- 
tions. There  could  be  met  Edwin  Booth, 
Charles  Fechter,  Tom  Placide,  Barney  Williams, 
William  J.  Florence,  John  McCullough,  Annie 
Pixley,  Carlotta  Leclercq,  James  W.  Wallack, 
E.  L.  Davenport,  Kate  Bateman,  Matilda 
Heron,  Jean  Davenport,  E.  A.  Sothern,  William 
Stuart,  William  Winter,  and  many  more. 

60 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    NEW    ENGLAND    CIRCUIT — A     PUT-UP    JOB  —  MISAD- 
VENTURES  IN    NEW    BEDFORD 

IT  was  the  custom  of  the  Davenport- Wallack 
combination,  at  the  close  of  a  Boston  engage- 
ment, to  follow  with  a  season  through  New 
England,  and  sometimes  very  droll  things  hap- 
pened to  one  or  other,  or  all  of  us,  in  our  one- 
night  stands. 

I  remember  one  occasion,  when  Mr.  Wallack 
ought  to  have  been  supposed  to  be  taking  an 
after-dinner  siesta  in  his  luxurious  drawing- 
room,  the  curtain  went  up  discovering  him 
lying  doubled  up  on  three  wooden  chairs,  which 
he  much  more  than  filled,  both  in  length  and 
breadth,  and  looking  very  much  as  if  he  were 
laid  out  for  torture. 

My  great  sin  in  those  days  —  and,  I  must 
confess,  also  in  later  days  —  was  laughter,  and 

61 


ROSE   EYTINGE 

this  reprehensible  tendency  sometimes  led  me 
into  very  awkward  predicaments. 

We  were  playing  in  New  Bedford  —  our  first 
engagement  in  that  town.  During  a  scene  be- 
tween Mr.  Wallack  and  myself  something  set 
me  off  laughing.  Mr.  Wallack  caught  the  in- 
fection, and  there  we  stood,  and  laughed,  and 
laughed.  Mr.  Davenport  came  to  the  wings 
and  frowned  upon  us  with  great  severity.  His 
virtuous  disapproval  of  our  levity  seemed  only 
to  increase  it,  and  we  laughed  the  more.  We 
got  through  somehow,  and  when  the  curtain 
fell  Wallack  unmistakably  shirked  his  share  of 
the  scoring  that  awaited  us.  He  sneaked  to  his 
dressing-room  and  locked  himself  in  until  the 
storm  should  blow  over,  leaving  me  to  "catch 
it"  alone.  And  I  did  catch  it! 

Among  the  many  things  which  Davenport  said 
was  a  reminder  that  "we  had  our  reputation 
to  make  in  New  Bedford."  I  was  —  as  I  was 
too  prone  to  be  —  saucy  and  defiant.  I  told 
him  that  before  the  week  had  ended  I  would 
find  an  opportunity  to  punish  him  for  his  un- 
called-for severity,  and  that  I  would  also  make 
reprisal  upon  Wallack  for  his  cowardice  in  de- 

62 


A   PUT-UP  JOB 

serting  me.  And  within  that  time  fortune  gave 
me  an  opportunity  to  make  good  my  threat. 

We  were  playing  one  night  in  Taunton.  The 
bill  was  "  The  King  of  the  Commons."  Wai- 
lack  and  Davenport  were  having  a  strong  dra- 
matic scene  together.  I  planted  myself  in  the 
first  entrance,  and  said  or  did  some  trifling 
thing  which  set  them  off  laughing.  This  was 
the  opportunity  I  had  been  waiting  for.  I  fol- 
lowed up  my  advantage.  I  continued  my  ab- 
surdity, whatever  it  was,  and  induced  them, 
against  their  efforts  to  control  themselves,  to 
laugh  again.  Five  times  they  walked  "up 
stage,"  recovered  themselves,  came  down,  took 
up  the  scene,  and  fell  a-laughing  again. 

At  last  the  audience,  which  at  first  had,  good- 
naturedly,  laughed  with  them  without  in  the 
least  knowing  why,  lost  patience  and  hissed 
them  soundly.  This  instantly  steadied  them. 
They  both  recovered  their  wonted  dignity,  and 
played  the  rest  of  the  scene  as  only  they  could. 
The  audience,  by  the  generous  applause  it  be- 
stowed upon  them,  proved  how  hearty  was  its 
forgiveness.  Afterward,  at  the  close  of  the  per- 
formance, they  fell  into  my  hands,  and  I  took 

63 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

my  revenge.  I  remember  that  I  was  at  great 
pains  to  remind  Mr.  Davenport  that  we  had  our 
reputation  to  make  in  Taunton. 

A  curious  incident  occurred  at  the  hotel  in  New 
Bedford  where  we  were  stopping.  A  nice,  com- 
fortable-looking old  couple  appeared  one  day 
at  dinner.  Later  in  the  afternoon  I  observed 
the  old  lady  seated  at  a  window  in  the  parlour, 
seeming  to  find  abundant  amusement  in  watch- 
ing the  passers-by.  But,  as  the  shadows  length- 
ened and  twilight  set  in,  she  fell  to  crying  silently 
and  bitterly,  with  great  sobs,  watching  all  the 
time  from  the  window,  eagerly  scanning  each 
person.  Her  tears  were  soon  dried  when  her 
husband  reappeared,  distressed,  anxious,  and 
repentant.  It  seems  that  they  had  driven  into 
town  that  morning  from  their  farm,  some 
ten  miles  away,  and,  having  finished  their  sell- 
ing and  buying,  had  adjourned  to  the  hotel  for 
dinner,  after  which  the  old  man  went  off  to  at- 
tend to  some  matter  of  business,  leaving  his 
wife  to  amuse  herself  at  the  window.  His 
business  finished,  he  had  returned  to  the  hotel, 
and,  being  very  absent-minded,  had  gone  di- 

64 


AN  AMUSING   INCIDENT 

rectly  to  the  stable,  hitched  up  his  team,  and 
driven  home.  It  was  not  until  he  had  walked 
into  his  own  kitchen  and  missed  his  wife  from 
her  accustomed  place  there  that  he  remembered 
he  had  left  her  in  the  town. 

It  was  also  in  New  Bedford  that  we  were  the 
victims  of  a  very  awkward  but  a  very  amusing 
incident.  The  night  was  pitch  dark;  the  moon 
had,  apparently,  broken  an  appointment  with 
the  town,  and  the  lamplighter,  relying  upon  her 
reputation  for  punctuality,  of  which  she  had 
at  this  crisis  proven  herself  utterly  unworthy, 
had  retired,  early.  When,  at  the  close  of  the 
performance,  we  left  the  theatre,  stepping  into 
the  street  was  like  stepping  into  solid  ink.' 
None  of  us  knew  even  in  what  direction  to  turn 
to  reach  the  hotel.  We  were  all  singularly  de- 
ficient in  the  sense  of  locality,  and  there  was 
not  a  creature  on  the  street  of  whom  we  might 
inquire  our  way.  So  we  plunged  desperately 
into  the  darkness,  and  walked  on  and  on,  each 
of  us  in  turn,  as  we  grew  tired,  losing  patience 
with  the  others  for  not  knowing  the  way.  Sud- 
denly the  crimination  and  recrimination  that 

65 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

had  been  becoming  pretty  lively  between  Wai- 
lack  and  Davenport  was  abruptly  interrupted, 
and  we  found  ourselves  quietly  falling  through 
space,  evidently  bent  on  visiting  the  other  side 
of  the  globe.  After  a  descent  of  what  seemed 
several  miles,  but  what  we  afterward  learned 
was  about  six  feet,  we  found  ourselves  reposing 
on  a  bed  of  soft,  shifting  sand. 

What  had  happened  was  this :  we  had  passed 
a  building  in  course  of  construction.  Over  an 
excavation  under  the  sidewalk  some  planks  had 
been  laid.  One  or  more  of  these  planks  be- 
came misplaced,  had  turned  —  and  there  we 
were.  When  we  had  somewhat  recovered  from 
our  astonishment,  had  righted  ourselves,  and 
found  ourselves  unhurt,  the  burning  question 
that  presented  itself  was:  "How  are  we  to 
get  out?" 

My  two  fellow-prisoners  began  the  task  of  ef- 
fecting our  liberation  with  great  vigour,  making 
light  of  the  matter,  and  promising  that  in  a  few 
moments  we  would  all  be  once  more  on  the 
street,  making  our  way  home.  But  this  view 
of  the  situation  did  not  continue,  and  it  really 
began  to  look  as  if  this  subterranean  shelter 

66 


AN   ANNOYING   TUMBLE 

was  to  be  our  permanent  home.  Both  Wallack 
and  Davenport  waxed  eloquent  in  suggesting 
what  the  other  ought  to  do.  But  effort  after 
effort  failed.  They  each  in  turn  lost  patience. 
From  impatience  they  passed  to  annoyance, 
from  annoyance  to  anger,  from  anger  to  sar- 
casm, from  sarcasm  to  contempt  for  the  nature 
that  could  condescend  to  trivialities  under  such 
circumstances, —  all  these  varying  moods  of 
temper  following  in  due  course  each  failure  at 
effecting  our  escape. 

For  me,  the  surprise  of  the  tumble  over,  I 
settled  down  in  the  sand  and  took  refuge  in 
the  perpetration  of  my  old  sin  of  laughter,  taking 
care  to  keep  all  audible  indulgence  of  that 
crime  in  the  background,  for  there  were  mo- 
ments when  a  good,  round  peal  of  laughter 
would  have  been  a  rather  dangerous  experi- 
ment. At  last  Davenport,  the  lithest  of  the 
two,  succeeded  in  reaching  the  upper  world. 
He  promptly  pulled  Wallack  and  myself  after 
him,  and  every  feeling  was  merged  into  thank- 
fulness. There  was  an  interchange  of  congrat- 
ulations at  our  escape. 

Still  we  found  ourselves  "distressed  and  com- 
67 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

passless"  in  the  dark,  silent,  solitary  street,  as 
far  from  any  knowledge  of  the  hotel  as  ever. 
As  we  were  stumbling  aimlessly  along  in  the 
darkness  we  heard  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet. 
We  made  for  that  sound.  We  came  up  with 
the  sound,  but  not  with  the  horse.  No  matter, 
we  were  content.  We  were  at  least  going  some- 
where. After  some  little  time  the  horse  stopped. 
We  soon  came  up  with  our  equine  guic(e  and 
found  ourselves  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
I  believe  we  went  in  with  the 


68 


CHAPTER  XI 

WASHINGTON  IN  WAR-TIME  —  "CONTRABANDS"  DEFINED 
—  UNCLE  SAM'S  SOLDIERS —  PATRIOTIC  SONGS  —  TOM 
PLACIDE — WALLACK  AND  DAVENPORT —  DISTINGUISHED 
GUESTS 

THE  Davenport-Wallack  combination  often 
played  engagements  in  Philadelphia  and  Balti- 
more, and  in  all  the  cities  and  towns  as  far 
South  as  Washington  and  as  far  East  as  Maine. 
But  we  never  went  West.  The  West  was  not 
then  the  near  neighbour  to  us  that  it  is  now. 
The  city  which  occupies  a  foremost  place  in 
my  memories  of  that  time  is  Washington. 

I  think  our  first  visit  there  was  made  in  the 
early  days  of  the  war,  and  the  city  was  in  a 
constant  state  of  ferment  and  excitement.  Mar- 
tial music  was  everywhere  to  be  heard;  aides- 
de-camp  and  bearers  of  despatches  were  gallop- 
ing hither  and  thither;  and  "contrabands'*  in 
their  picturesque  rags  were  encamped  in  little, 
squalid,  but  cheerful  and  laughing  groups  wher- 
ever they  could  find  an  eligible  spot,  their  fav- 
ourite resting-place  being  Pennsylvania  Avenue. 

69 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

Just  here  I  am  reminded  of  a  definition  which 
a  dusky  maiden  in  Washington,  one  "to  the 
manor  born,"  gave  me  of  that  new-born  term 
"contraband."  During  a  wordy  quarrel  with 
a  fellow-servant  I  heard  her  call  her  antagonist 
"nothin'  but  a  oP  contraband  any  way!"  I 
asked  her  why  she  did  so,  and  what  was  a  con- 
traband, and  she  replied:  "Why,  Lor',  missie, 
don'  yo'  know  what  a  contraband  is?  It  's 
jis'  one  o'  dem  low-down  wufless  Southern 
niggers  dat  come  up  to  Washin'ton  and  set 
down  on  de  guv'ment,  and  'pend  on  de  guv7- 
ment." 

There  were  soldiers  everywhere,  all  over  the 
town;  Pennsylvania  Avenue  was  alive  with 
them  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  and 
Pennsylvania  Avenue  was  not  then  the  fine, 
well  paved  and  lighted  promenade  that  it  is 
now.  Some  of  these  soldiers  made  a  fine  show- 
ing with  their  blue  uniforms  and  glittering  side- 
arms  and  bayonets.  New  regiments  passed 
to  the  front  with  high  hearts  and  springing 
steps,  and  with  bright,  fresh  flags  flying.  Others, 
again,  were  seen  returning,  their  uniforms  tat- 
tered and  travel-stained,  and  their  flags  ragged 

7o 


WASHINGTON   IN   WAR-TIME 

and  faded.  But  all  alike  moved  with  stirring, 
martial  music;  if  not  with  bands,  at  least  with 
song. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  finest  sights  and  sounds  was 
afforded  by  a  Western  regiment,  full  a  thousand 
strong;  it  had  "got  the  route,"  and  was  on  its 
way  to  the  front.  Buttoned  up  close  in  their 
light-blue  overcoats,  guns  reversed  to  keep  them 
dry,  their  slouched  hats  drawn  well  down  over 
their  brows,  the  men  marched  down  Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue  in  a  driving  rain,  every  one  sing- 
ing "John  Brown's  Body." 

It  was  as  inspiring  as  the  scene  one  evening  in 
mid- Atlantic,  on  board  a  North- German  Lloyd 
steamer.  We  had  been  buffeted  about  for  ten 
days,  harassed  by  head  winds  and  gales,  and 
were  just  enjoying  the  first  hours  of  respite. 
Moving  along  at  a  spanking  rate,  before  a  fair 
wind,  with  a  full  moon  to  light  us,  everybody 
came  crawling  up  on  deck,  breathing  his  or  her 
thankfulness  for  deliverance  from  danger  or 
death,  and  every  heart  was  full  of  hope.  A  lit- 
tle group  of  first-cabin  passengers  who  were  sit- 
ting aft  began  singing;  soon  they  dropped  into 
"Die  Wacht  am  Rhein."  Voice  after  voice 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

took  up  the  strain.  The  steerage  folk,  in  twos 
and  threes,  sauntered  toward  the  rail  that  di- 
vided them  from  their  better-off  fellow-passen- 
gers, and  in  their  turn  took  up  the  song.  In 
a  few  minutes  a  great  chorus  came  from  for- 
ward, the  officers  on  deck  joined  in,  and  in  a 
little  while  every  man,  woman,  and  child  on 
board  the  great  ship  was  singing  the  patriotic 
song. 

But  in  the  words  of  our  ex-Confederate  broth- 
ers, "On  to  Washington!" 

At  the  time  we  had  arranged  to  play  in  Wash- 
ington our  advance  agent,  Mr.  Pennoyer,  found 
the  hotels  so  crowded  that  it  was  impossible 
to  obtain  proper  accommodation  for  us  at  any 
one  of  them.  He  therefore  secured  for  us  quar- 
ters in  a  private  house  on  Seventh  Street,  and 
there  we  were  much  more  comfortable  than  we 
should  have  been  in  any  hotel. 

Among  the  members  of  our  company  was 
"Tom"  Placide.  In  addition  to  our  individual 
rooms,  Wallack,  Davenport,  and  I  had  in  com- 
mon a  large,  straggling,  many-sided,  many- 
windowed  room  which  we  all  three  used  as 


TOM   PLACIDE 

library,  writing-room,  reception,  dining,  break- 
fast, and  supper  room,  and  as  all  the  windows 
looked  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue  it  served  also 
as  an  observation-room. 

Here  we  were  always  glad  if  Mr.  Placide  would 
join  us,  but  he  could  seldom  be  persuaded  to 
do  so.  The  poor  man  was  a  great  sufferer,  and 
too  proud  and  reticent  to  complain.  Naturally 
this  self-repression  reacted  upon  himself,  and 
his  silent,  dark  moods  were  set  down  to  bad 
temper.  Doubtless  our  light-hearted  moods 
and  our  habit  of  seeing  the  humorous  side  of 
life  found  little  sympathy  with  him,  and  jarred 
upon  his  nerves.  I  think  he  liked  me,  for  he 
showed  his  good  will  in  many  kindly  ways, 
but  1  fear  that  my  ever-ready  laughter  often 
annoyed  him.  He  would  sometimes  look  at 
me  with  a  dark  frown  and  growl  out,  "Ah, 
laugh  away!  You  '11  get  the  laugh  taken  out 
of  you  some  day." 

But  that  day  was  not  then,  and  many  a  merry 
laugh  and  many  a  pleasant  hour  I  had  in  that 
old  room,  in  which  it  was  many  times  my  priv- 
ilege to  listen  to  men  whose  names  are  bright 
in  the  pages  of  our  nation's  history. 

73 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

Both  Wallack  and  Davenport,  each  in  his  own 
way,  were  men  of  mark,  and  more  than  usually 
intelligent  and  interesting.  Wallack  was  the 
quieter  and  more  thoughtful  of  the  two;  some- 
what of  a  dreamer  and  given  to  sentiment  and 
poetic  fancies.  Davenport  was  a  totally  differ- 
ent type  of  man;  he  was  gay  and  light-hearted 
as  a  boy,  very  witty  and  quick  at  repartee, 
and  he  had  a  memory  which  was  stocked  with 
amusing  anecdotes. 

To  those  men  who  were  making  our  history  at 
that  time  in  Washington,  whose  lives  were  so 
full  of  the  hurry,  the  worry,  and  the  fury  of  the 
fight,  the  talk  of  these  two  bright  men  offered 
such  a  sense  of  respite  and  refreshment  that 
often,  when  the  performance  was  over,  we 
were  joined  at  supper  in  our  many-purposed 
room  by  some  of  these  more-or-less  "grave  and 
reverend  signiors."  And  in  the  wake  of  these 
lawmakers  and  statesmen  came  their  chron- 
iclers, among  them  some  of  the  foremost  news- 
paper men  of  that  day,  such  as  Thurlow  Weed, 
Joseph  Medill,  "Brick"  Pomeroy,  Henry  J. 
Raymond,  Manton  Marble,  William  Hurlburt, 
William  Stuart,  "Gath"  Townsend,  Don  Piatt, 

74 


DISTINGUISHED   GUESTS 

and  Hugh  Hastings.    At  these  gatherings  I  was 
only  "a  looker-on  in  Vienna." 

The  same  kind  fate  which  sent  us  into  private 
quarters  instead  of  to  the  cold  conventionalities 
of  hotel  life  guided  us  in  our  business.  We 
had  come  to  Washington  expecting  to  play  one 
week  at  the  National  Theatre;  but  some  con- 
fusion of  dates  or  other  business  complication 
upset  this  arrangement,  and  to  the  great  chagrin 
and  annoyance  of  both  Wallack  and  Daven- 
port we  were  obliged  to  put  up  with  a  wretched, 
insignificant,  little  whitewashed  house  on  the 
wrong  side  of  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  which  was 
called  the  Washington  Theatre.  But  the  poor 
little  house  proved  to  be  a  mascot  for  us.  We 
played  there,  not  one  but  many  weeks,  and  to 
very  fine  business.  In  short,  we  became  the 
rage.  Our  audiences  were  largely  made  up  of 
the  best  people  in  Washington.  It  was  no 
unusual  thing  to  see  in  our  audience  a  heavy 
sprinkling  of  men  and  women  in  full  dress,  with 
here  and  there  some  foreign  ambassador  in  full 
regalia,  and  of  "the  boys  in  blue"  we  always 
had  a  good  contingent. 


75 


CHAPTER  XII 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  —  WILLIAM  HENRY  SEWARD — PLA- 
CIDE'S  HUMOUR — "STILL  WATERS  RUN  DEEP"  —  AS- 
SASSINATION OF  THE  PRESIDENT —  A  NIGHT  OF  TERROR 

IT  was  a  very  pleasant  occasion  on  which  for 
the  first  time  I  met  Abraham  Lincoln.  It  is 
not  to  be  supposed,  that,  in  such  times  as  those 
of  which  I  write,  the  President,  borne  down 
as  he  was  by  public  cares,  had  either  time  or 
inclination  for  amusement;  but  he  dearly  loved 
the  theatre  and  was  present  at  several  of  our 
performances.  It  was  after  one  of  these  visits 
that  he  notified  Wallack  and  Davenport  that 
he  would  be  pleased  to  see  them. 

The  day  following  the  receipt  of  this  invitation 
they  went  to  the  White  House,  and,  like  the 
good  fellows  they  were,  asked  me  to  accom- 
pany them.  When,  in  my  turn,  I  was  pre- 
sented to  the  President,  he  took  my  hand,  and, 
holding  it  while  he  looked  down  upon  me  from 
his  great  height,  said:  "So  this  is  the  little 
lady  that  all  us  folks  in  Washington  like  so 

76 


WILLIAM   HENRY   SEWARD 

much?"  Then,  with  a  portentous  shake  of 
his  head,  but  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  he 
continued,  "  Don't  you  ever  come  'round  here, 
asking  me  to  do  some  of  those  impossible  things 
you  women  always  ask  for,  for  I  would  have 
to  do  it,  and  then  I'd  get  into  trouble." 

I  met  Mr.  Seward  under  different  circum- 
stances,—  at  a  social  function.  I  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  personal  introduction  to  him,  and 
I  felt  greatly  distinguished.  When  Mr.  Seward, 
with  his  stately,  old-school  manner,  bowed  low 
over  my  hand  and  expressed  himself  as  being 
gratified  at  having  this  opportunity  of  greeting 
me,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  conferring  upon 
me  a  patent  of  nobility. 

It  is  impossible  to  think  of  two  more  contrast- 
ing personalities  than  those  of  Lincoln  and  Sew- 
ard: the  one  so  simple,  warm-hearted,  and 
free-spoken;  the  other  so  stately,  cold,  and  dig- 
nified. When  Mr.  Seward  spoke  a  few  com- 
plimentary commonplaces  to  any  one,  the 
person  addressed  felt  as  if  he  or  she  were  par- 
ticipating in  history. 

But  to  return  to  the  theatre.    One  night  we 

77 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

were  playing  Dion  Boucicault's  "London  As- 
surance," Wallack  acting  Dazzle,  Davenport 
Sir  Har  court  Courtley,  and  I  Lady  Gay  Spanker. 
In  the  scene  between  Sir  Harcourt  and  Lady 
Gay,  when  she  asks  him  if  her  agitation  renders 
her  unfit  to  re-enter  the  ballroom,  Davenport, 
instead  of  replying  according  to  the  text,  said: 
"Your  beauty  is  only  heightened  by  a  Rose- 
Ey tinge  " —  pronouncing  it  ' l  Rosytinge. ' '  The 
house  took  the  pun  instantly,  and  I  made  my 
exit  amid  a  storm  of  applause  and  laughter. 

Again,  one  night,  during  a  performance  of  Bul- 
wer's  comedy  "Money,"  with  Wallack  as  Al- 
fred Evelyn,  Davenport  as  Smooth,  Placide  as 
Graves,  and  I  as  Clara  Douglas,  in  the  scene 
where  the  will,  which  carries  disappointment 
and  chagrin  to  so  many  hearts,  is  read,  we 
were  seated  in  a  semicircle  across  the  stage, 
and  I  found  myself  directly  opposite  Placide. 
Through  the  whole  scene  he  made  at  intervals 
a  sort  of  procession  of  the  most  excruciatingly 
funny,  lugubrious  faces.  My  attention  became 
riveted  on  Placide.  I  found  him  irresistibly 
funny,  and  the  audience  seemed  to  be  entirely 

78 


PLACIDE'S   HUMOUR 

of  my  mind,  for  the  scene  went  with  hearty  and 
continuous  laughter.  But  several  times  I  no- 
ticed, and  I  was  greatly  puzzled  by  it,  that 
when  my  glance  wandered  for  a  moment  from 
Placide  and  rested  upon  one  or  other  of  the  per- 
sons engaged  in  the  scene,  I  was  met  with  frowns 
and  sly  negative  nods,  and  divers  other  evidences 
of  disapproval.  When  the  curtain  fell  I  was 
promptly  enlightened  as  to  the  cause  of  their 
conduct. 

It  seems  that  my  enjoyment  of  Placide's  grim- 
aces had  been  so  great  that  it  took  the  highest 
form  of  compliment,  and  that  during  the  whole 
scene  I  had  been  busy  following,  and  uncon- 
sciously imitating,  every  one  of  them.  I  had 
thus  been  unwittingly  sharing  the  scene  with 
Placide  and  furnishing  the  cause  for  the  laughter 
of  the  house. 

A  favourite  bill  with  us  was  Tom  Taylor's  com- 
edy, " Still  Waters  Run  Deep,"  Wallack  giving 
a  delightful  performance  of  John  Mildmay,  and 
Davenport  playing  Hawksley  with  equal  bril- 
liancy. When  the  piece  was  first  played  by 
us  I  was  cast  for  Mrs.  Mildmay,  because  she 

79 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

was  young  and  amiable,  but  as  soon  as  I  learned 
how  much  better  an  acting  part  was  Mrs.  Stern- 
hold,  I  insisted  upon  playing  that  character 
instead.  It  was  useless  for  Wallack  and  Daven- 
port to  point  out  to  me,  as  they  did  repeatedly 
and  strenuously,  that  she  was,  to  say  the  least, 
middle-aged,  and  that  in  order  to  play  the  part 
I  would  be  obliged  to  make  up  middle-aged, 
thus  destroying  my  appearance  of  youthfulness, 
and  artistically  doing  myself  a  present  and 
future  injury.  Play  her  I  would,  and  play  her 
I  did. 

One  day  Mr.  Wallack  felt  called  upon  to  take 
me  seriously  to  task  for  something  I  had  said 
which  would  have  been  much  better  left  unsaid. 
I  felt  the  full  force  of  his  rebuke,  because  I  knew 
that  my  position  was  indefensible.  So  I  put 
on  a  bold  front  and  made  a  sweeping  denial. 
We  were  seated  opposite  each  other  at  the 
breakfast-table,  and  when  I  found  myself  ac- 
cused I  planted  my  elbows  on  the  table,  and, 
putting  my  face  between  my  hands,  I  looked 
him  squarely  in  the  eyes  and  said,  deliberately 
and  incisively,  "I  have  no  recollection  of  hav- 
ing ever  said  anything  of  the  kind."  Wallack 

80 


AN   UNEXPECTED   HIT 

looked  at  me  and  made  no  reply.  He  was 
silenced, — I  dare  not  say  by  what. 

That  night  the  bill  was  "  Still  Waters  Run 
Deep."  In  the  second  act  Wallack  and  my- 
self, in  our  respective  parts,  were  seated  oppo- 
site each  other  in  precisely  the  same  positions 
as  those  which  we  occupied  that  morning,  and 
Wallack,  in  his  character  of  Mildmay,  repeated 
to  me  the  slighting  remarks  which  he  was  sup- 
posed to  have  overheard  me  make  to  his  wife 
with  reference  to  himself. 

In  the  text  I  merely  offered  a  general  denial ; 
but  this  night  I  assumed  the  same  expression 
and  used  the  identical  words  I  had  used  in  real 
life  in  the  morning,  exclaiming,  "I  have  no 
recollection  of  having  ever  said  anything  of  the 
sort"!  Either  my  effrontery,  or  Wallack's 
realistic  amazement,  caught  the  audience.  The 
point  made  a  hit,  and  ever  afterward  the 
speech,  with  the  accompanying  "business"  of 
Wallack  and  myself,  became  an  integral  por- 
tion of  that  scene. 


81 


ROSE  EYTINGE 


I  now  approach  one  of  the  most  awful 
and  awe-inspiring  periods  of  my  life, —  the 
night  on  which  President  Lincoln  was  assas- 
sinated. 

At  the  time  I  was  taking  a  brief  vacation, 
and  was  visiting  the  family  of  an  army  officer 
who  was  in  charge  of  a  military  hospital  a  few 
miles  out  of  town.  On  that  dread  occasion  my 
hostess  and  I  had  been  in  town  for  the  day 
and  evening  and  it  had  been  arranged  that  an 
orderly,  with  the  carriage,  should  call  for  us 
next  morning  and  drive  us  out  home. 

Suddenly  some  of  the  men  of  the  household 
where  we  were  visiting  dashed  into  the  house, 
bringing  intelligence  of  the  crime. 

The  first  reports  were  that  the  President  and 
every  member  of  the  Cabinet  were  murdered. 
The  community  was  wild  with  horror.  Every- 
body, as  if  moved  by  one  impulse,  rushed  into 
the  streets,  the  church  bells  were  tolled,  and  all 
social  and  conventional  barriers  were  levelled 
in  the  general  horror.  Utter  strangers  talked 
together  in  hurried  accents,  exchanging  the 
various  rumours  with  which  the  air  was  rilled. 

82 


LINCOLN'S   ASSASSINATION 

One  report  had  it  that  Washington  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  rebels.  Strangers  accosted  each 
other  and  asked  for  the  last  news;  and  when 
one  or  the  other  confirmed  the  dreadful  truth 
of  the  President's  murder  they  cried  like  chil- 
dren. 

Soon  it  became  bruited  about  that  the  crime 
had  been  committed  by  an  actor,  and  woe  to 
the  actor  who  had  been  found  on  the  streets 
that  night!  My  friends  and  I,  in  common  with 
everybody  else,  rushed  into  the  street,  but  we 
were  soon  filled  with  fear  lest  I  should  be  rec- 
ognised. 

Toward  midnight,  to  our  added  alarm  and 
horror,  an  army  ambulance  lumbered  up  the 
street  and  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  house 
where  we  were.  It  developed  that,  as  had  been 
arranged,  the  carriage  had  been  sent  for  us,  but 
it  had  been  so  often  stopped  and  searched,  and 
the  orderly  who  was  driving  had  been  put 
through  so  many  and  such  rigid  examinations, 
that  he  had  decided  to  turn  back  and  get  the 
ambulance  instead,  hoping  that  the  sight  of 
this  familiar  and  authorised  vehicle  would  at- 
tract less  attention. 

83 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

By  this  time  the  city  was  declared  under  mar- 
tial law,  every  point  of  egress  was  closely  guarded, 
and  the  members  of  the  theatrical  guild  were 
looked  upon  with  universal  disfavour.  The  air 
seemed  rife  with  murder  and  the  suspicion  of 
murder. 

It  was  a  time  to  burn  itself  into  one's  memory. 
I  pray  that  I  may  never  be  called  upon  to  go 
through  its  like  again. 


84 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NEW  YORK  —  WALLACK'S  THEATRE  —  NANCY  SYKES  — 
LEADING  WOMAN  WITH  LESTER  WALLACK  —  PERFECT 
THEATRICAL  MANAGEMENT  —  MARY  GANNON  — CHARLES 
DICKENS  —  LOVE  FOR  THE  STAGE 

THE  next  step  in  my  progress  as  an  actress  was 
coming  to  New  York  with  Davenport  and  Wai- 
lack,  who  had  made  an  engagement  with  Lester 
Wallack  to  play  a  spring  and  summer  season 
at  Wallack's  —  afterward  the  Star  —  Theatre. 
Here  we  played  all  our  regular  repertory  and 
renewed  all  our  old  successes. 

It  was  during  this  season  that  I  made  my  step 
into  melodrama.  It  had  been  the  rule,  when- 
ever we  played  "  Oliver  Twist, "  to  send  for  Mrs. 
Wallack  to  join  us  for  the  part  of  Nancy  Sykes, 
and  when  it  was  settled  that  that  piece  should 
be  given,  this  was  the  programme  settled  upon 
by  the  powers. 

But  I  seriously  disarranged  matters  by  an- 
nouncing my  intention  to  play  Nancy.  When 
I  voiced  my  wish,  both  Wallack  and  Davenport 

85 


ROSE   EYTINGE 

were  convulsed  with  laughter.  The  more  I 
urged,  the  more  they  laughed;  and  the  more 
they  laughed,  the  more  my  wish  crystallised  into 
determination. 

When  my  position  in  the  matter  forced  them 
to  view  the  question  seriously,  they  each  in 
turn,  and  each  in  his  own  way,  placed  before 
me  the  absurdity  of  my  attempting  to  play  such 
a  part,  and  they  pointed  out  to  me  how,  in 
every  particular  —  physically,  mentally,  and 
temperamentally  —  I  was  wholly  unequipped 
for  it.  The  more  they  argued,  the  more  posi- 
tive I  became.  At  last  an  appeal  was  made  to 
Lester  Wallack.  He  simply  pooh-poohed  my 
wish  and  also  laughed  me  out  of  court.  But 
"a  wilful  woman" 

They  gave  way,  Lester  Wallack  suggesting,  by 
way  of  compromise,  that  some  light  one-act 
piece  should  be  put  on  to  end  the  performance, 
in  which  I  could  look  myself,  in  order  that  the 
audience  should  not  take  away  with  them  the 
ghastly  picture  of  Nancy  in  her  death  throes. 

When  we  were  rehearsing,  both  Wallack  and 
Davenport  never  wearied  of  impressing  upon 
me  the  necessity  for  me  to  make  a  fierce,  realistic 


A  REALISTIC  PERFORMANCE 

struggle  to  break  away  from  Bill  Sykes's  re- 
straining arms,  when  I  should  try  to  attack 
Fagin.  I  felt  very  desirous  to  play  the  part 
well,  and  thus  redeem  my  promise,  and  by  so 
doing  justify  the  faith  which  my  managers  had 
been  induced,  at  last,  to  place  in  me  when  they 
yielded  their  judgment  at  my  urging. 

The  night  of  the  performance  I  was  wrought 
up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  nervous  excitement; 
for  then  I  realised  for  the  first  time  the  import- 
ance of  the  task  I  had  laid  out  for  myself. 

The  scene  of  the  fight,  which  ended  the  second 
act,  began,  and  I  had  seized  the  stick  with 
which  Fagin  had  been  about  to  beat  Oliver. 
Davenport,  flinging  his  arms  around  me  in  a 
close  grasp,  kept  whispering  in  my  ear:  "Try 
to  break  away  from  me!  Try!  Try!"  I 
tried,  and,  lo!  I  succeeded.  With  a  vigorous 
wrench  I  broke  from  his  arms,  flew  across  the 
stage,  and  with  the  stick  struck  poor  Mr.  Wai- 
lack  a  sounding  thwack  on  the  side  of  his  head; 
he  went  down  like  a  shot,  and  then  he  rolled 
and  rolled  —  almost  into  the  footlights. 

Down  came  the  curtain,  leaving  Nancy  mis- 
tress of  the  situation,  and  Fagin,  quite  outside 

87 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

of  it,  obliged  to  pick  himself  up  and  walk  off  at 
first  entrance.  Thereafter,  whatever  may  have 
been  the  opinion  of  the  managers  as  to  my  per- 
formance  of  the  part,  they  never  again  expressed 
any  doubt  of  my  ability  to  carry  that  struggle. 
The  piece  ran  many  weeks  and  was  the  success 
of  the  season. 

This  summer  season  of  theWallack-Davenport 
combination  at  Wallack's  Theatre  bore  excel- 
lent fruit  for  me.  It  resulted  in  my  receiving 
from  Lester  Wallack  the  offer  of  the  position 
of  leading  woman  at  his  theatre  for  the  following 
regular  season.  I  need  scarcely  say  how  grat- 
ified I  was  upon  receiving  such  an  offer,  and 
how  eagerly  I  accepted  it,  though  if  the  Wallack- 
Davenport  combination  had  not  been  upon  the 
eve  of  dissolution  I  do  not  think  that  even  so 
brilliant  an  opportunity  of  advancement  would 
have  tempted  me  to  leave  my  two  dear  friends. 
But  the  state  of  J.  W.  Wallack's  health  forced 
him  into  retirement,  and  in  little  more  than  a 
year  afterward  he  died. 

What  a  school  of  acting  was  Wallack's  Theatre ! 


PERFECT  MANAGEMENT 

With  the  business  portion  —  the  front  of  the 
house  —  under  the  able  control  of  Theodore 
Moss,  and  the  stage-management  in  the  hands 
of  Lester  Wallack,  courtesy  and  kindness  ruled 
on  both  sides  of  the  curtain.  Everybody  em- 
ployed in  the  theatre,  whether  a  principal  or 
a  call-boy,  was  treated  with  consideration. 

Every  Saturday,  at  noon,  the  company  would 
assemble  in  the  greenroom,  and  thither  would 
come  Theodore  Moss,  with  a  pleasant  greeting 
on  his  lips  and  a  tin  box  under  his  arm.  Then 
the  salaries  were  paid,  and,  if  a  member  of  the 
company  were  ill,  his  salary  was  sent  to  him 
every  week,  together  with  pleasant  words  of 
hope  and  good  wishes. 

The  rehearsals  were  conducted  in  the  same 
spirit.  True,  Lester  would  occasionally  "let 
out"  if  some  one  or  other  were  unusually  stupid, 
but  the  outburst  was  pretty  sure  to  be  followed 
by  some  little  gracious  act  or  word  that  effect- 
ually removed  the  sting. 

But  there  was  one  unfailing  refuge  from  a  re- 
proof at  the  hands  of  "the  governor,"  and  that 
was  to  tell  him  a  funny  story.  He  had  an  ex- 
quisite wit  and  a  keen  sense  of  humour.  Once 

89 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

catch  his  eye,  or  his  ear,  for  either  one  or  the 
other,  and,  no  matter  how  great  your  fault  or 
how  late  you  might  be  for  rehearsal,  you  were 
safe. 

I  was  fortunate  enough,  while  at  Wallack's 
Theatre,  to  have  an  opportunity  to  play  a  great 
variety  of  parts,  embracing  at  times  three  lines 
of  business.  This  opportunity  came  to  me 
through  two  important  vacancies  which  oc- 
curred in  the  company. 

Dear  little  Mary  Gannon,  one  of  the  sweetest 
little  women  that  ever  graced  the  world,  and 
one  of  the  best  actresses  that  ever  graced  the 
stage,  died,  and  at  Mr.  Wallack's  request  I 
played  several  of  her  parts,  notably  Rosa  Leigh 
in  "Rosedale."  When  Fanny  Morant,  who 
played  the  ultra-fashionable  dames,  and  the 
high  and  mighty  ones  generally,  left  the  com- 
pany in  mid-season,  I  played  several  of  her 
parts. 

While  I  was  associated  with  Wallack's  Theatre, 
my  desire  to  hear  Charles  Dickens  read  was  so 
great  that  when,  in  the  spring,  I  was  making 

90 


CHARLES  DICKENS 

my  engagements  with  Lester  Wallack  for  the 
following  season,  I  begged  him  to  insert  a 
clause  in  the  contract  by  which  I  would  be  left 
out  of  the  bills  for  one  of  Dickens's  series,  which 
were  made  up  of  four  evenings. 

When  the  distinguished  novelist  arrived,  Wal- 
lack, true  to  his  word,  and  with  the  gracious- 
ness  which  always  marked  his  conduct,  gave 
me  the  opportunity  to  attend  his  first  course, 
which  was  given  at  Stein  way  Hall.  The  night 
of  the  first  reading  I  was  in  a  fever  of  delighted 
anticipation.  I  was  going,  not  so  much  to  see 
and  hear  the  great  author,  Charles  Dickens, 
but  to  meet  old  friends,  the  men  and  women 
whom  I  knew  and  loved.  They  might,  in- 
deed, be  the  creations  of  the  wondrous  imagina- 
tion of  their  author,  but  to  me  they  were  real, 
true,  breathing  men  and  women. 

Dickens  came  upon  the  platform,  and  my  first 
feelings  were  those  of  disappointment.  Dickens 
was  a  dandy  —  decidedly  a  dandy  —  and  a 
rather  mean-looking  dandy  at  that.  Certainly 
he  stood  upon  as  mean-looking  a  pair  of  legs 
as  I  ever  saw.  He  was  dressed  in  a  pair  of 
light-coloured  trousers;  a  rather  flashy  waist- 

91 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

coat,  across  which  stretched  a  very  self-assertive 
watch-chain,  balanced  in  the  middle  with  a  fat 
locket;  and  a  brown  surtout  with  collar  and 
cuffs  of  velvet  and  very  much  drawn  in  at  the 
waist. 

But  my  deepest  disappointment  came  when  he 
began  to  read.  His  pathos  —  to  my  mind, — 
was  so  thin,  so  flippant,  and  strained,  that  my 
impulse  was  to  say  to  him:  "Do  not  read  that 
chapter;  you  do  not  know  your  characters; 
you  cannot  do  justice  to  their  author."  Of 
course  my  position  was  untenable  and  absurdly 
impertinent,  and  my  rebuke  was  swift  and 
scathing.  His  comedy  was  as  delightful  as  his 
pathos  was  unsatisfying,  and  he  suited  his  man- 
ner so  accurately  to  his  characters  that,  as  he 
read,  the  little  overdressed  man  with  the  shad- 
owy legs  and  pink  face  disappeared,  the  cold 
white  platform  faded  away,  and  I  was  at  the 
Holly-tree  Inn,  or  wherever  the  magic  of  his 
voice  pleased  to  take  me.  It  was  my  good 
fortune  a  year  or  two  afterward  to  meet  Charles 
Dickens  in  his  own  country,  and  I  bear  in  my 
memory  the  most  agreeable  recollections  of  him; 
but  I  must  confess  that  I  found  a  much  more 

92 


VISIT  TO  THE  ORIENT 

solid  enjoyment  in  making  acquaintance  with 
and  learning  to  know  Dickens's  men  and  women 
through  the  medium  of  his  written  language, 
than  I  did  in  hearing  his  spoken  words. 

I  left  Wallack '  s  Theatre  to  go  abroad .  Family 
reasons  called  me  to  the  Orient,  and  in  "that 
land  of  sand  and  ruin  and  song"  I  passed 
several  years. 

I  did  not  take  leave  of  the  stage  on  my  de- 
parture from  it  at  that  time.  I  never  have  done 
so,  nor  will  I  ever  willingly  do  so.  I  have  al- 
ways given  the  stage  my  loyalty  and  my  love, 
and  I  will  give  up  my  interest  in  the  theatre 
and  my  loving  work  in  the  drama  only  when 
I  am  called  to  another  life. 


93 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MY  FIRST  SEA  VOYAGE  —  CAPTAIN  JUDKINS  AND  THE 
"  SCOTIA  "  —  SEA-SICKNESS  —  GOODWOOD  RACES  —  THE 
PRINCE  OF  WALES  AGAIN  —  IN  THE  QUEEN'S  BOX  AT 
THE  OPERA — SMUGGLING — ROCHESTER,  N.  Y.  —  A 
LEADING  WOMAN  IN  A  SAD  PREDICAMENT 

IT  was  in  the  summer  following  the  close  of  my 
first  season  as  leading  woman  at  Wallack's 
Theatre  that  I  first  went  abroad,  and  then  I 
took  the  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  by  way  of 
a  prescription. 

I  was  pretty  well  worn  out  in  both  mind  and 
body.  So  far  as  I  can  remember,  there  had  not 
been  any  long  runs  during  the  season,  and  I 
had  seldom,  if  ever,  been  out  of  the  bill;  so, 
what  with  study,  rehearsals,  costumers,  and 
dressmakers,  I  had  had  very  little  rest.  But, 
as  so  often  happens  with  persons  whose  work 
is  congenial,  I  was  not  conscious  of  fatigue  until 
the  necessity  for  the  work  ended.  Then  I  went 
to  pieces. 

An  ocean  trip  was  strongly  recommended  to 
give  me  complete  rest.  It  must,  of  necessity, 

94 


AN  OCEAN  TRIP 

be  a  hurried  one,  for  there  was  an  interval  of 
only  a  few  weeks  between  the  closing  of  one 
season  and  the  opening  of  the  next. 

Captain  Judkins,  the  oldest  captain  and  by 
courtesy  the  "commodore"  of  the  Cunard  fleet 
of  steamers,  suggested  that  I  make  a  round 
trip  on  his  famous  old  paddle-wheel  ship,  the 
"Scotia."  She  would  remain  a  week  in  port, 
and  this  would  give  me  an  opportunity  to  run 
up  to  London  for  a  few  days,  and  perhaps  to 
Paris. 

Augustin  Daly,  who  was  then  my  fast  friend, 
attended  to  all  details,  and  in  just  twelve  hours 
from  the  time  I  had  settled  to  go  I  was  on 
board.  Long  before  we  passed  the  Narrows 
I  was  the  seasickest,  sorriest,  homesickest  little 
woman  that  ever  "went  down  to  the  sea"  in  a 
ship. 

And  the  seasickest  I  continued  to  be  until  the 
"Scotia"  entered  the  Mersey;  though  there 
were  brief  intervals  of  comparative  relief,  and 
in  those  intervals  I  managed  to  obtain  glimpses 
of  pleasant  faces.  Notably  among  those  living 
in  my  memory  is  Sir  Edward  Cunard,  at  that 
time  the  principal  owner  of  the  Cunard  Line. 

95 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

I  am  afraid,  however,  that  Sir  Edward  "  prac- 
tised" upon  me;  he  was  so  kindly  solicitous 
to  relieve  me  that  at  various  times  he  tried  upon 
me  every  obtainable  known  and  unknown  rem- 
edy for  seasickness,  and  I  think  he  managed 
to  get  them  all.  I  was  far  too  limp  and  languid 
to  refuse,  so  I  meekly  took  everything  he  brought 
me.  And  at  times  the  result  was  simply  awful, 
— no  wonder  I  remember  him. 

I  received  but  scant  sympathy  from  Captain 
Judkins.  He  would  come  and  look  in  at  the 
window  of  his  cabin,  which  he  had  kindly 
placed  at  my  disposal,  and  shake  his  head  dis- 
approvingly at  me;  or  he  would  suggest  a  little 
luncheon  when  the  mere  mention  of  food  was 
worse  than  death  to  me.  But  at  last  the  dread- 
ful voyage  ended,  and  as  soon  as  possible  after 
the  ship  docked  at  Liverpool  I  set  out  for  Lon- 
don, and,  being  there,  I  made  my  way,  of 
course,  to  the  Langham  Hotel,  which  was  then 
the  haven  of  all  good  Americans  who  went  to 
London.  There  I  received  the  warmest  kind 
of  welcome  from  Colonel  Sanderson. 

To  my  great  good  fortune,  the  day  following 
my  arrival  there  were  the  Goodwood  races,  to 

96 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES 

which  Colonel  Sanderson  invited  me.  There  I 
had  the  additional  good  fortune  again  to  meet 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  When  Colonel  Sanderson 
went  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  Prince,  he  told 
him  of  my  being  present,  and  his  Royal  High- 
ness called  upon  me.  Once  again  we  ate  and 
drank  together  from  the  luncheon  which  Col- 
onel Sanderson  had  brought.  The  Prince  ex- 
pressed his  polite  regrets  that  he  was  leaving 
town  the  next  day,  but,  looking  at  the  Colonel, 
laughingly  said  that  he  left  me  in  good  hands, 
and  that  he  hoped  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
me  on  his  return.  In  the  meantime,  if  there 
was  anything  he  could  do,  I  had  but  to  com- 
mand him. 

Colonel  Sanderson  explained  to  the  Prince  how 
brief  my  stay  was  to  be,  whereupon  he  repeated 
his  regrets.  He  asked  if  I  would  like  to  attend 
the  opera,  and  on  my  replying  that  I  would, 
he  said  he  would  attend  to  the  matter.  And 
thus  the  royal  visit  ended. 

But,  oh,  dear !  what  a  lioness  I  was !  The  drag 
on  top  of  which  this  reception  took  place  was 
mobbed  by  a  gaping,  wondering  crowd  that, 
greatly  to  my  relief,  trailed  off  at  the  heels  of 

97 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

the  Prince.  But  I  was  called  upon  to  pass 
through  a  worse  ordeal  than  the  gaze  of  the 
mob,  which  had  been  kept  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance by  the  "bobbies." 

Every  glass  on  the  racecourse  was  levelled  at 
me,  and  a  sort  of  promenade  of  swells  filed  past 
our  drag  in  order  to  examine  at  close  range 
this  person  whom  nobody  knew,  and  to  whom 
the  Prince  of  Wales  had  shown  such  unusual 
attention.  For  me,  I  was  not  nearly  so  much 
impressed  by  the  event  as  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
have  been.  I  have  never  felt  any  great  respect 
for  rank  as  mere  rank,  and  a  prince,  after  all, 
is  but  a  man  who  has  more  opportunities  for 
doing  good  work  in  the  world  than  most  men. 

I  ought  to  say  here  that  the  Prince  of  Wales 
sent  me  a  box  for  the  opera  at  Covent  Garden 
Theatre, —  the  Queen's,  no  less ! —  and  the  only 
special  impression  that  I  remember  it  to  have 
made  upon  me  was  that  it  was  rather  stuffy. 

My  week  ashore  was  a  long  time  passing, 
though  every  hour  of  every  day  was  filled,  and 
every  evening  too.  But  I  was  homesick, — 
deadly,  drearily  homesick;  and  the  thought  of 

98 


SMUGGLING 

that  vast,  cold,  cruel  Atlantic  rolling  between 
me  and  my  home  and  everything  and  every- 
body I  loved  haunted  me  day  and  night. 

At  last  Friday  arrived,  and  I  journeyed  down 
to  Liverpool,  with  my  purse  empty,  but  with 
my  trunks  filled  with  beautiful  silks  and  satins 
and  laces  and  furbelows  which  I  dishonestly 
intended  to  smuggle. 

The  trip  home — though  bad  enough — was 
not  quite  so  bad  as  the  voyage  out;  but  the 
ship's  nose  was  pointed  westward,  and  the  con- 
sciousness that  every  roll  and  plunge  which  she 
made  brought  me  nearer  to  Manhattan  Island 
gave  me  courage.  Early  in  the  voyage  I  had 
confided  to  Captain  Judkins  my  nefarious  in- 
tentions toward  Uncle  Sam,  and  he,  after 
heaping  reproaches  upon  me  for  my  want  of 
patriotism,  had  threatened  to  expose  me  to  the 
customs  officers  as  soon  as  they  came  aboard. 

He  would  make  this  threat  with  so  serious  a 
face  that  I  could  not  decide  whether  he  meant 
it  or  not.  When  the  officers  came  on  board, 
and  the  business  of  " declaring "  had  begun, 
I  became  thoroughly  frightened,  and  fled  to 
the  captain  for  protection.  He  was  more  in- 

99 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

exorable  than  ever,  and  he  left  me  coiled  up  in 
a  corner  of  the  sofa  in  his  cabin,  frightened,  and 
uncertain  whether  to  "declare"  everything  or 
to  wait  and  trust  to  luck. 

My  terror  reached  its  climax  when  the  cap- 
tain's "boy"  appeared  with  "the  captain's  compli- 
ments, and  would  I  please  send  him  my  keys?" 
Still  nothing  happened.  After  what  seemed  to 
me  an  interminable  time,  in  walked  the  old 
sea-dog,  bringing  with  him  the  much-dreaded 
custom-house  officer.  The  latter  was  courtesy 
itself,  and  he  told  me  that  as  Captain  Judkins 
had  explained  to  him  that  I  had  important 
business  which  demanded  my  immediate  at- 
tention he  would  see  to  it  that  I  should  not  be 
detained;  that  I  could  leave  the  moment  the 
ship  got  in,  and  my  trunks  should  be  forwarded 
to  my  address  immediately  they  were  brought 
on  deck. 

It  was  about  this  time,  usually  between  sea- 
sons, that  I  made  my  first  essays  as  a  star.  I 
received  an  offer  to  go  to  Rochester  for  a  week, 
and  I  accepted.  The  morning  after  my  arrival 
in  that  city  I  went  to  the  theatre.  It  was 

100 


AT  THE  ROCHESTER  THEATRE 

empty,  dirty,  and  cold,  and  presented  an  ap- 
pearance of  utter  desolation.  I  waited  about 
for  some  time,  being  exhorted  thereto  by  a  for- 
lorn old  man  whom  I  found  crouched  in  a  sort 
of  cage  at  the  stage  door,  which  looked,  if  possi- 
ble, more  forlorn  than  he  did.  He  besought 
me  to  "wait  a  while,  the  b'ys  and  gyurls  will 
be  around  here  in  a  shake." 

After  a  brief  time  my  old  friend's  words  were 
verified.  A  few  men  and  women  came  strag- 
gling aimlessly  in,  and  certainly  a  more  dis- 
contented, frowsy,  unkempt  set  of  mortals  I 
hope  never  to  see.  Still  we  waited,  for  neither 
the  manager,  stage-manager,  nor  leading  man 
had  put  in  an  appearance.  The  day  was 
dreary,  I  was  weary,  and  still  they  came  not. 
So  I  returned  to  my  hotel  in  a  very  unsettled 
frame  of  mind. 

After  an  hour  or  two  the  manager  called,  and 
apologies,  regrets,  and  profuse  assurances  that 
everything  would  be  all  right  at  night  were 
offered,  with  the  further  assurance  that  he— 
the  manager — was  then  going  to  the  theatre 
personally  to  conduct  the  rehearsal,  which  I 
need  not  be  troubled  to  attend.  In  the  even- 

IOI 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

ing,  feeling  no  great  confidence  in  those  man- 
agerial promises,  I  went  to  the  theatre  early. 
The  stage  door  was  reached  through  a  narrow 
passage  leading  from  the  street.  In  this  pas- 
sage-way, which  was  quite  dark,  I  fell  over 
something  rather  bulky  and  soft  which  ob- 
structed the  way.  I  summoned  to  my  assist- 
ance, from  his  post  in  the  cage,  my  forlorn 
old  friend  of  the  morning,  and  really  he  seemed 
to  be  the  only  person  connected  with  the  es- 
tablishment who  ever  was  at  his  post.  From 
him  I  learned  that  the  impediment  which  had 
barred  my  way  to  the  temple  of  art  was  the 
leading  man. 

Feeling  thoroughly  discouraged  by  this  dis- 
covery I  returned  to  my  hotel,  packed  my  be- 
longings, and  left  town  by  the  first  train,  trusting 
to  some  later  occasion  for  a  more  favourable 
opportunity  to  make  my  first  bow  to  a  Roches- 
ter audience. 


102 


CHAPTER  XV 

TORONTO  —  "THE  HEART  OF  MIDLOTHIAN"  —  A  MINISTER- 
ING ANGEL  —  JEANIE  DEANS — A  CONVERTED  PRES- 
BYTERIAN—  "SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER"  —  GEORGE 

HOLLAND   AS   TONY  LUMPKIN 

MY  next  essay  at  starring  was  not  much  more 
pleasant  or  profitable  than  was  my  Rochester 
experience,  but  as  it  led  to  my  forming  a  friend- 
ship with  a  singularly  interesting  and  delight- 
ful woman  I  always  think  of  it  with  gratitude. 
At  the  time  of  which  I  write  there  was  a  small 
theatre  in  Broadway,  New  York,  on  the  site  of 
that  quaint,  rugged,  grey-stone  building  known 
as  "Ye  Olde  London  Streete."  It  was  then 
under  the  management  of  two  capable  old 
actors,  Mark  Smith  and  Lewis  Baker,  the 
fathers  of  the  two  actors  of  the  same  names, 
respectively,  of  to-day.  These  gentlemen  had 
arranged  for  a  production  of  Scott's  "The 
Heart  of  Midlothian,"  and  they  engaged  me 
to  play  Jeanie  Deans. 

Just  previous  to  the  opening  I  had  an  offer  to 
103 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

go  to  Toronto  to  star  for  a  week.  I  went, 
taking  with  me  Scott's  novel  and  my  part  of 
Jeanie. 

I  found  the  theatre  at  Toronto  in  compara- 
tively as  complete  a  state  of  demoralisation  as 
the  Rochester  concern,  and,  I  suspect,  from 
the  same  cause. 

But  the  members  of  the  company  were  good 
enough  to  be  present  for  rehearsals,  and  all  the 
discomforts  of  the  theatre  were  more  than  com- 
pensated for  by  the  cosy  comfort  I  found  at  the 
Queen's  Hotel,  a  hostelry  then  conducted  by 
Captain  Dick,  an  old  retired  lake  captain. 

The  weather  was  bitterly  cold,  and  the  theatre 
was  like  an  ice-house.  After  all  these  years,  as 
my  memory  carries  me  back  to  the  horror  of 
that  dimly-lighted,  freezingly  cold,  long,  nar- 
row den  which  was  miscalled  a  dressing-room, 
to  which  I  was  shown,  the  old,  cold  misery 
of  that  moment  returns  upon  me.  In  addition 
to  my  other  discomforts  I  was  attacked  by  a 
violent  siege  of  neuralgia. 

I  got  through  a  performance,  of  what  I  do 
not  remember,  and  by  the  time  I  returned  to  my 
hotel  I  was  almost  mad  with  pain.  Thinking 

104 


A  MINISTERING  ANGEL 

to  distract  my  thoughts,  I  drew  a  table  beside 
my  bed,  took  from  the  chimney-piece  a  pair 
of  old-fashioned  candlesticks,  lighted  the  can- 
dles which  they  contained,  and,  armed  with 
my  story  and  the  part,  I  set  in  to  study 
Jeanie. 

The  last  thing  I  remember  was  feeling  be- 
numbed with  the  cold,  and  suffering  intense 
pain  in  my  head. 

The  next  sensations  of  which  I  was  conscious 
were  of  subdued  light,  release  from  pain,  and 
a  general  and  delightful  sense  of  warmth  and 
comfort;  then  of  hearing  a  low,  soft  voice  say- 
ing, "Sit  up  now,  dear,  and  take  your  tea." 

I  opened  my  eyes,  and  there,  bending  over  me, 
was  a  woman,  not  old,  not  very  young,  with  a 
lovely,  lovable  face,  lighted  by  a  pair  of  blue 
eyes,  and  with  a  mouth  large,  mobile,  expres- 
sive at  once  of  a  tender,  generous  nature,  and 
yet  made  more  interesting  by  lines  of  delicate 
humour;  the  whole  surmounted  by  a  crown  of 
snow-white  hair.  My  first  confused  thought 
was  that  I  had  been  "translated,"  and  if  this 
was  the  "other  world"  I  found  my  sensations 
and  surroundings  such  an  improvement  on 

105 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

the  state  I  last  remembered  that  I  was  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  change. 

"Ah!"  said  my  pleasant-looking  visitor,  "you 
are  awake;  now  we  will  have  some  tea."  And 
there  was  placed  before  me  upon  the  table  be- 
side my  bed  a  daintily  served  breakfast. 

This  somewhat  disturbed  the  trend  of  my 
thoughts,  for  my  ideas  of  "that  bourne"  had 
never  included  "'atin'  and  dhrinkin'." 

But  the  breakfast  was  too  entirely  satisfactory, 
and  my  enjoyment  of  it  too  thorough.  All 
thoughts  of  the  spirit  land  fled;  I  knew  that  I 
was  upon  the  earth,  and  I  also  felt  assured  that 
I  was  very  pleasantly  placed  at  that  particular 
moment. 

It  seemed  that  when  the  maid  had  knocked 
at  my  door  some  hours  previously  she  received 
no  response,  and  upon  the  door  being  opened 
I  was  found  in  a  faint.  I  had  a  trick  of  indulg- 
ing myself  in  that  way  in  those  days.  Miss 
Dick,  the  lady  upon  whom  I  had  opened  my 
eyes,  and  a  member  of  Captain  Dick's  family, 
was  summoned,  and  all  the  comfort  and  cosi- 
ness of  my  surroundings  I  owed  to  her  kind 
ministrations. 

106 


JEANIE  DEANS 

As  we  talked  I  discovered  by  the  soft  burr  of 
her  tongue  and  the  musical  intonations  of  her 
voice  that  she  was  Scotch,  and  the  volume  of 
Scott  which  she  had  found  upon  my  table  had 
been  the  passport  to  her  heart.  When  I  ex- 
plained to  her  the  cause  of  its  presence  there, 
and  told  her  of  my  engagement  to  play  Jeanie 
Deans  on  my  return  to  New  York,  she  offered 
to  teach  me  the  accent. 

This  she  did,  and  in  addition  gave  me  a  real 
"maud"  of  the  Stewart  tartan,  of  which  house 
the  Argylls  were  followers. 

When  I  afterward  played  Jeanie ,  and  when  my 
costume  and  my  accent  were  alike  praised,  I 
felt  that  I  was,  in  a  way,  defrauding  press  and 
public  of  their  plaudits,  all  of  which  belonged 
to  Miss  Dick, — good,  pious,  Presbyterian  Miss 
Dick,  who  had  never  in  her  life  seen  the  inside 
of  a  playhouse.  But  despite  her  strict  Pres- 
byterianism  I  led  her,  or  rather  she  wandered, 
from  the  fold  into  the  theatre. 

Accompanied  by  a  niece,  she  came  to  visit  me. 
Knowing  her  strict  religious  principles  and 
prejudices  I  made  no  suggestion  to  them  to 
visit  any  theatre,  but  was  at  great  pains  to  pro- 

107 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

vide  them  with  entertainments  more  adapted 
to  their  habits  of  life.  I  sent  them  to  con- 
certs, lectures,  missionary  meetings,  and  such 
innocuous  gatherings. 

One  evening,  as  we  were  gathered  around  the 
tea-table  prior  to  my  departure  for  my  "shop," 
I  was  a  good  deal  puzzled  to  observe  the  aunt 
and  niece  exchanging  mysterious  glances  and 
secret  nudges,  and  soon  these  were  abandoned 
for  equally  puzzling  speech, — "You  tell  her"; 
"No,  you  ask  her,"  etc.  At  last  their  wish 
found  clear  expression.  They  wanted  to  go 
to  the  theatre,  to  see  Lester  Wallack  and  my- 
self act. 

Only  too  pleased  to  comply  with  their  request, 
I  mentioned  the  incident  that  evening  to  Mr. 
Wallack,  with  all  its  attendant  details.  With 
that  genial  courtesy  which  was  one  of  his  many 
graceful  qualities,  he  at  once  responded  by 
placing  his  own  box  at  my  friends'  disposal, 
and  the  following  evening  they  occupied  it. 
Perhaps,  however,  I  ought  to  qualify  the  latter 
statement,  for  the  reason  that  during  the  per- 
formance the  greater  portions  of  them  were 
hanging  over  the  railing  of  the  box,  and  so 

108 


WALLACK'S  BRILLIANT  WORK 

great  was  their  delighted  absorption  of  the 
scene,  and  their  utter  and  complete  forgetful- 
ness  of  the  audience,  that  several  times  I  feared 
they  would  precipitate  themselves  upon  the 
stage. 

I  think  Lester  Wallack  enjoyed  their  enthu- 
siasm quite  as  much  as  they  enjoyed  his  work. 
The  piece  was  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer." 
Wallack  was  in  great  form  and  impersonated 
Young  Marlowe  brilliantly.  He  played  to 
them  the  whole  evening  in  the  most  flagrant 
manner,  and  their  admiration  for  him  was 
something  beautiful  to  see.  But  their  love, 
full  and  unbounded,  was  given  to  old  George 
Holland,  who,  of  course,  played  Tony  Lump- 
kin. 

Indeed  it  was  a  pleasant  sight,  one  not  easily 
to  be  forgotten,  to  see  that  silver-haired,  elderly 
lady,  dressed  simply  and  severely  in  black,  and 
her  bonnie  girl  companion,  so  completely 
carried  out  of  the  commonplace  of  everyday 
life  by  that  mimic  picture.  The  culmination 
of  their  adventure  occurred  as  we  were  leaving 
the  theatre.  Mr.  Holland,  at  the  close  of  the 
performances,  used  to  sit  in  a  little  nook  at 

109 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

the  stage  door  and  wait  for  his  son  "Ned,"  who 
came  every  night  to  take  his  father  home. 
When,  as  we  were  leaving  the  theatre,  I  stopped 
for  a  moment's  chat  and  good-night  with  him, 
Miss  Dick  asked  me  who  it  was  I  spoke  to. 
When  I  told  her  it  was  Tony  Lumpkin,  she 
impulsively  turned  back,  put  her  arms  around 
dear  old  Holland's  neck  and  kissed  him,  saying, 
"God  bless  you,  Tony!" 

The  visit  to  the  theatre  that  night  marked  an 
epoch  in  my  friend's  life.  She  was  a  woman 
possessing  a  rare  intelligence,  great  breadth  of 
mind,  and  independence  of  character.  She 
frankly  acknowledged  that  she  now  felt  con- 
vinced that  by  her  lifelong  absence  from  the 
theatre  she  had  made  a  great  mistake,  and  had 
deprived  herself  of  much  pleasure  and  intel- 
lectual growth,  a  mistake  which  for  the  rest  of 
her  life  she  would  correct.  And  she  kept  her 
word. 


310 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AUGUSTIN  DALY  AND  THE  NEW  YORK  THEATRE  —  "  UNDER 
THE  GASLIGHT"  —  DAVENPORT  IN  MISCHIEF —  "CASTE" 
—  W.  J.  FLORENCE  —  MRS.  GILBERT  —  STARRING  — 
NEWARK,  N.  J. —  WASHINGTON 

THE  management  under  which  I  played 
Jeanie  Deans  did  not  last  long,  and  their  vacat- 
ing the  New  York  Theatre  opened  its  doors  to 
Augustin  Daly,  who,  then  a  very  young  man 
and  occupying  the  position  of  dramatic  critic  on 
the  New  York  "Evening  Express,"  took  the 
theatre  as  a  weekly  tenant. 

Mr.  Daly  afterward  told  me  that  when  he  be- 
came the  lessee  of  that  theatre  his  entire  capital 
did  not  reach  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dollars. 
It  was  his  third  venture  into  the  theatrical  busi- 
ness, although  but  his  first  step  into  regular 
management.  His  first  had  been  his  arrange- 
ment into  dramatic  form  of  MosenthaPs  drama 
of  "Deborah,"  which  he  called  "Leah,  the  For- 
saken," for  Kate  Bateman.  This  was  followed 

in 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

by  an  attempt  to  make  a  successful  star  of 
Avonia  Jones. 

But  Daly  had  always  been  a  manager;  his 
mother  told  me  that  when  he  was  a  very  small 
boy  he  played  at  management  and  never  wished 
to  play  at  anything  else.  When  other  boys 
would  evince  a  very  natural  desire  to  play 
"tag"  or  "hop-scotch/'  or  any  other  of  the 
games  to  which  small  boys  are  addicted,  Daly 
would  organise  his  comrades  into  a  stock  com- 
pany and  manage  them.  He  never  attempted 
to  act  himself,  but,  even  as  a  child,  he  cast  his 
pieces  and  handled  his  company  with  the 
single-mindedness  that  characterised  him  after- 
ward. 

So  now,  when  his  life-long  ambition  was  in 
the  inception  of  its  realisation,  he  was  perfectly 
equipped  for  his  work,  concentrated  in  his 
methods,  self-contained  and  self-reliant,  know- 
ing exactly  what  he  wanted  to  do  and  how  he 
meant  to  do  it. 

He  began  his  career  as  a  manager  with  the 
production  of  his  own  dramatisation  of  Charles 
Reade's  novel,  "Griffith  Gaunt,"  then  popular. 

The  name  of  the  heroine  was  Kate  Peyton,  and 

112 


AUGUSTIN  DALY'S  OFFER 

Daly,  having  his  own  fixed  ideas  of  just  what 
sort  of  actress  he  wanted  to  personate  this  hero- 
ine, had  experienced  great  difficulty  in  finding 
her.  His  offering  the  part  to  me,  or  rather  his 
suggesting  to  me  the  possibility  that  I  might 
be  induced  to  play  it,  was  quite  accidental,  and 
occurred  at  our  first  meeting. 

One  of  the  actresses  whom  he  was  considering 
for  the  part  was  visiting  me,  and  Mr.  Daly 
called  to  see  her.  At  her  request  I  received 
him.  We  discussed  the  story  and  the  character 
of  Kate,  with  the  result  that,  with  one  of  those 
gusts  of  sudden  resolution  to  which  he  was  ad- 
dicted, he  asked  me  if  I  would  play  the  part. 
On  account  of  the  terms  of  my  contract  with 
Lester  Wallack,  I  was  not  free  to  consider  the 
offer;  but  I  was  greatly  taken  with  and  in- 
terested in  the  serious-eyed,  intensely  earnest 
young  manager.  He  urged  me  to  promise  to 
consider  playing  the  part  if  Mr.  Wallack's  con- 
sent to  my  doing  so  could  be  obtained. 

This  promise  I  made.  In  an  incredibly  brief 
time  this  man,  young,  unknown,  and  without 
influence,  managed  to  see  Mr.  Wallack,  and 
returned  to  me  armed  with  a  note  containing 

"3 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

the  desired  permission,  only  making  the  con- 
dition that  I  would  not  play  in  New  York  later 
than  within  six  weeks  of  the  opening  of  the 
regular  season.  There  was  no  talk  of  terms 
between  us.  Indeed,  at  this  stage  of  the  ne- 
gotiation there  could  not  very  well  have  been. 

Daly  now  had  his  theatre,  his  company,  and 
possibly  his  heroine.  He  had  gathered  about 
him  a  company  of  exceptional  excellence,  his 
leading  man  being  J.  K.  Mortimar,  and  we 
began  rehearsing. 

During  the  first  rehearsal  Mr.  Daly  interrupted 
me  from  time  to  time,  to  give  me  instructions 
as  to  this  or  that  bit  of  business.  But  I  was 
feeling  my  way  through  the  part,  and  these  in- 
terruptions, though  undoubtedly  judicious  and 
necessary,  made  me  nervous  and  uncertain  in 
my  work;  so  I  went  quietly  to  him,  where  he 
sat  at  the  prompt  table,  reminded  him  that 
this  rehearsal  was  only  a  trial,  and  begged  that 
he  would  allow  me  to  struggle  through  the  part 
uninterrupted.  I  suggested  that  he  should 
make  notes  of  any  changes  which  he  wished 
me  to  make,  and  if  I  played  the  part  we  could 
incorporate  these  changes  in  future  rehearsals. 

114 


DALY'S  ASPIRATIONS 

To  all  these  suggestions  he  promptly  and 
amiably  assented. 

I  played  Kate.  The  piece  ran  several  weeks. 
During  its  run  my  serious-eyed  young  man- 
ager told  me  of  an  original  play  which  he  was 
writing,  and  which  he  wished  to  produce  at 
the  close  of  the  run  of  "Griffith  Gaunt."  This 
piece  was  "Under  the  Gaslight." 

At  his  invitation  I  went  to  his  home  in  Ho- 
ratio Street,  where  he  lived  with  his  mother 
and  brother,  and  he  read  me  the  play.  Even 
then  his  artistic  aspirations  and  longings  were 
struggling  for  expression.  The  walls  of  the 
conventional  little  room,  which  was  fitted  up 
as  a  sort  of  "den"  and  writing-room,  were 
coloured  a  dark  blue,  and  there  were  little 
plaster  casts  and  small  pictures  scattered  about ; 
and  everywhere  there  were  evidences  of  his 
reaching  out  after  a  literary  and  artistic  at- 
mosphere. 

The  result  of  this  visit  was  that  I  agreed  to 
originate  the  part  of  Laura  Courtland. 

Again  Daly  surrounded  himself  with  an  ex- 
ceptionally good  company,  J.  K.  Mortimar 
playing  the  character  part,  and  Dolly  Daven- 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

port  the  lead.  I  confess  I  do  not  remember 
the  story.  I  only  remember  that  the  situation 
of  the  piece  is  where  I  break  down  a  door  with 
an  axe  which  I  opportunely  find,  and  rescue 
somebody  who  is  lashed  down  on  a  railroad 
track,  and  that  this  "business"  was  preceded 
by  my  frantic  exclamation,  "The  axe,  the 
axe!" 

This  exclamation  became  a  sort  of  catch- 
word, and  Davenport,  who  was  an  incorrigible 
guyer,  used  to  serve  it  up  to  me  on  all  possible 
and  impossible  occasions,  with  the  result  that 
there  was  a  great  deal  too  much  giggling  and 
guying  during  the  performance. 

Mr.  Daly,  who  was  then  the  same  watchful, 
ubiquitous  manager  he  always  was,  tried  every 
available  means  to  check  us,  with,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  very  little  success. 

One  night,  in  sheer  desperation,  he  threatened 
Davenport,  upon  whom — with  how  much  jus- 
tice I  will  not  say — he  looked  as  the  ring- 
leader, with  immediate  discharge  if  he  did 
not  on  the  following  night  and  at  every  per- 
formance thereafter  play  the  part  seriously. 

The  next  night  Davenport  made  his  appear- 

116 


DAVENPORT  IN  MISCHIEF 

ance  dressed  completely  in  black,  even  wearing 
black  kid  gloves  throughout  the  entire  perform- 
ance; and  he  played  the  part  throughout 
without  a  smile,  investing  it  with  unbroken, 
lugubrious  gloom.  The  result  was  that  every 
scene  in  which  he  appeared,  even  the  most 
serious  ones,  went  with  shouts  of  laughter; 
and  the  more  the  audience  laughed,  the  more 
solemnly  serious  Davenport  became. 

When  the  final  curtain  fell,  Daly  appeared 
and  fairly  and  frankly  gave  up  the  fight.  He 
begged  Davenport  to  doff  his  "suit  of  solemn 
black"  and  play  the  part  as  he  had  always 
played  it. 

The  magnanimous  action  of  our  young  mana- 
ger had  the  effect  of  making  us  all  feel  heart- 
ily ashamed  of  ourselves,  and  from  that  night,  by 
unanimous  decision,  there  was  no  more  guying. 

These  two  engagements  under  Daly's  man- 
agement resulted  in  a  friendship  between  him 
and  myself  that  ended  only  with  his  life.  We 
became  good  comrades.  His  duty  as  dra- 
matic critic  made  it  necessary  for  him  some- 
times to  make  flying  visits  to  several  theatres 
in  one  evening,  and  I  was  always  glad  to  accept 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

his  invitation  to  accompany  him  on  these  little 
expeditions. 

In  this  manner  I  witnessed  with  Daly  the  first 
performance  of  French  comic  opera  that  was 
given  in  New  York.  It  was  "La  Grande  Du- 
chesse,"  with  Tostee  as  La  Duchesse.  As  an 
indication  of  the  change  in  public  taste,  both 
Mr.  Daly  and  I  were  so  far  from  pleased  with 
the  performance  that  we  left  early  in  the  second 
act,  finding  it  rather — well!  rather! — for  our 
taste.  Nowadays  the  performance  would  be 
rated  rather  slow. 

With  him  also  I  witnessed  the  performance  of 
"Caste,"  which  was  produced  by  W.  J.  Flor- 
ence. The  piece  had  been  secured  from  Tom 
Robertson  by  Wallack  for  production  at  Wai- 
lack's  Theatre  during  the  following  regular 
season.  But  Florence  brought  over  a  (shall 
we  say  an  annexed?)  copy  of  the  piece  in  a 
summer  season,  in  advance  of  Wallack,  with 
himself,  his  wife,  Owen  Marlowe,  Davidge, 
Mrs.  Chanfrau,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  in  the  cast. 
I  was  particularly  pleased  with  Mrs.  Gilbert's 
performance  of  the  Marquise,  and  I  said  to 
Daly,  "When  you  get  your  theatre,  there  is  a 

118 


STARRING  IN  NEWARK 

woman  you  ought  to  engage."  He  replied, 
"I  will."  How  well  he  kept  his  word  we  all 
know. 

Somewhere  about  this  time  I  was  often  invited 
to  star  here  and  there.  Among  the  offers  were 
one  from  Washington  and  one  from  Newark, 
which  I  accepted.  The  theatre  in  Newark 
was  under  the  management  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Waller, — delightful  people  to  meet,  both  per- 
sonally and  artistically.  Of  that  week  I  re- 
tain most  pleasant  recollections.  To  both  these 
engagements  Mr.  Daly  accompanied  me,  pro- 
ducing my  pieces  for  me. 

A  quaint  incident  occurred  one  night  in  Wash- 
ington during  the  last  act  of  " Griffith  Gaunt." 
In  the  most  intense  situation  there  arose  —  I 
could  scarcely  say  whence  —  the  most  awful 
din.  Being  in  the  prisoner's  box  undergoing 
trial  for  my  life,  I  was  very  greatly  distressed 
over  what  seemed  to  be  a  wanton  effort  to  dis- 
turb my  performance.  I  spoke  off  the  wing 
several  times,  imperatively  demanding  that  it 
should  be  stopped.  My  demands  were  quite 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

unavailing,  and  my  annoyance  was  greatly 
increased  by  observing  that  my  remonstrances 
were  met  by  a  helpless  shrug  or  shake  of  the 
head,  accompanied  by  a  suppressed  smile. 

The  moment  the  curtain  fell,  intent  upon  visit- 
ing dire  vengeance  on  the  head  of  the  offender, 
I  was  hurrying  from  the  box  when  everybody 
in  the  wings  rushed  on  the  stage  and  no  longer 
attempted  to  suppress  laughter.  My  stage- 
manager  said:  "No  use,  Miss  Eytinge,  even 
you  could  not  stop  that  noise;  that's  from 
above!" 

It  was.  The  roof  was  covered  with  tin;  some 
plates  had  become  loosened;  and  when  a  gust 
came,  the  wind,  which  was  blowing  fiercely, 
would  raise  these  plates  and  rattle  them.  My 
stage-manager  was  quite  right.  I  was  obliged 
to  submit.  It  was  from  above. 


120 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LONDON, —  PARIS — LONGCHAMPS  AND  THE  GRAND  PRIX 
NAPOLEON  III  AND  THE  EMPRESS  EUGENIE  —  PRIN- 
CESS METTERNICH  —  PRINCE  PIERRE  NAPOLEON  —  DR. 
EVANS  —  NUBAR  PASHA  —  AUBER  AND  VERDI —  AMER- 
ICANS IN  PARIS  —  CORA  PEARL 

IN  1869  I  went  abroad  for  what  was,  virtually, 
the  first  time,  for  my  earlier  hurried  trip  across 
and  back,  which  barely  occupied  three  weeks, 
could  scarcely  be  called  a  visit. 

After  an  uneventful  voyage  we  arrived  in  Liv- 
erpool and  went  direct  to  London,  arriving  in 
that  city  on  a  Sunday  morning, —  a  drizzling, 
grizzling,  grey  Sunday  morning,  and  I  cannot 
remember  a  more  wretchedly  uninteresting, 
empty,  miserable  day  than  was  that  first  Sun- 
day in  London. 

As  a  consequence,  the  next  day,  bright  and 
early,  we  set  out,  like  true  Americans,  for  Paris, 
then  at  the  zenith  of  her  pride  and  beauty. 
Napoleon  the  Third  was  then  Emperor  of 
France;  and  while  he  may  possibly  have  been 

121 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

weak,  short-sighted,  corrupt,  or  any  of  the 
many  things  he  ought  not  to  have  been,  he  cer- 
tainly made  of  Paris  the  finest,  most  fascinat- 
ing city  in  Europe,  both  to  native  and  to  visitor. 

It  is  quite  likely  that  both  citizen  and  visitor 
were  heavily  taxed,  but  in  return  for  that  tax 
they  enjoyed  the  inestimable  privilege  of  living 
in  what  had  the  appearance  of  a  perfectly  gov- 
erned city.  They  had  the  opportunity  of  liv- 
ing in  an  atmosphere  of  lightness  and  bright- 
ness, where  the  air  was  filled  with  the  scent  of 
flowers,  the  sound  of  music,  and  the  gay  laugh- 
ter of  light-hearted  souls. 

Paris,  in  those  days,  was  so  attractive  that 
travellers  from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth 
hurried  through  her  gates,  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  witness  and  to  share  her  glory,  and 
more  than  willing  in  return  to  pour  their  wealth 
into  her  lap.  To  the  visiting  onlooker  there 
was  no  evidence  that  the  Parisians  ever  com- 
plained of  the  condition. 

Certainly  I  never  heard  a  French  landlady 
complain,  as  I  remember  once  to  have  heard 
an  English  one  do.  In  response  to  the  latter's 
cry  of  poverty  I  tried  to  cheer  her  up  by  point- 

122 


AT  LONGCHAMPS  RACES 

ing  out  to  her  the  many  opportunities  which 
she  had  for  accumulating  and  saving  money. 
"Ah,  yes,  my  dear  lady,"  she  replied,  "but  the 
minute  I  Ve  saved  a  sovereign,  along  comes  a 
man  in  a  black  coat  and  takes  it  for  the  Queen." 
Arrived  in  Paris,  we  availed  ourselves  of  the 
opportunity  to  see  the  race  for  the  Grand 
Prix.  And  where  could  be  seen  a  finer  sight 
than  Longchamps  of  a  Sunday  during  the 
Third  Empire? 

It  might  not,  I  submit,  have  been  a  refreshing 
spectacle  to  an  old-fashioned,  orthodox,  New 
England  deacon;  but  to  the  everyday  mere 
human  creature  it  presented  a  picture  likely 
to  live  a  long  time  in  the  memory,  marked  with 
a  white  stone, —  the  long  stretch  of  perfectly 
kept  white  road,  gleaming  in  the  sunshine;  the 
vast,  emerald-green  lawn,  trim  and  close-cut; 
the  horses  in  the  paddock  and  on  the  course, 
with  their  well-trimmed  fetlocks,  hoofs  oiled 
and  polished,  and  their  coats  glossy,  and  carry- 
ing their  heads  high  as  if  they  knew  their  value. 
The  Imperial  stand,  ablaze  with  colour,  was 
filled  with  beautiful  women  in  faultless  cos- 
tumes, and  with  equally  well-dressed  men. 

123 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

Everywhere  was  gaiety,  brilliancy.  The  air 
was  redolent  of  sweetness  and  bright  with 
flowers. 

Here  they  come!  —  bowling  along  over  the 
soft,  green  turf,  in  a  low,  dark  landau  drawn 
by  four  perfectly  matched  bays,  with  outriders 
gorgeous  in  uniforms  which  glittered  with  gold 
and  steel,  and  with  postilions  jingling  with  spurs 
and  bells,  Napoleon  the  Third  and  the  Empress 
Eugenie,  followed  by  their  court  in  equipages 
of  equal  beauty  and  brilliancy. 

The  Empress  was  then,  like  her  realm,  in  the 
zenith  of  her  beauty.  She  was  tall  and  grace- 
ful, with  a  swan-like  throat  set  upon  beautiful 
sloping  shoulders,  her  hands  were  exquisite, 
and  her  hair  rippled  in  golden  splendour  around 
her  fair  face.  But  her  eyes  were  set  too  closely 
together,  and  drooped  too  low  at  their  corners, 
as  also  drooped  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  to 
indicate  that  she  had  either  a  generous  heart  or 
a  large  understanding. 

Beside  her  sat  the  Emperor  with  his  dignified 
bearing  and  gracious  manner,  and  his  carefully 
waxed  moustache  and  "imperial."  Louis  Na- 
poleon, like  many  another,  had  a  happy  knack 

124 


NAPOLEON  III  AND  EUGENIE 

of  looking  much  more  than  he  was.  The 
one  feature  that  seriously  detracted  from  the 
general  impressiveness  of  his  appearance  were 
his  eyes.  They  were  heavy,  bulging,  fish-like 
eyes. 

With  them  was  their  son,  young  Prince  Napo- 
leon, a  beautiful  child  of  a  fair  young  mother. 
Fortunately  it  was  not  then  given  to  that  moth- 
er to  be  able  to  look  into  the  future,  where 
waited  disaster  and  disgrace,  where  death 
lurked  for  her  husband,  his  realm  to  fall  about 
him  like  a  house  of  cards ;  and  her  boy,  stricken 
down  in  early  manhood,  dying  on  an  African 
hillside,  and  herself  passing  long,  lonely  years 
of  widowhood  in  exile. 

In  the  Empress's  train  there  were  many  beau- 
tiful women,  and  courtly,  distinguished-looking 
men;  but  as  I  was  neither  a  chamberlain  nor 
a  chambermaid  at  the  French  Court  I  did  not 
know  them  by  name.  To  be  sure  I  did  recog- 
nise here  and  there  some  one  whom  I  had  seen 
before.  There  was  the  Princess  Metternich, 
who  was  as  well  known  and  as  well  beloved  for 
her  charities  as  for  her  repartee.  She  was  at 
that  time  considered  one  of  the  plainest  but 

125 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

one  of  the  wittiest  women  in  Paris.  To  be 
the  first  is  a  misfortune,  to  be  the  second  is 
fatal. 

And  there  was  Prince  Pierre  Napoleon,  cousin 
to  the  Emperor,  and  better  known  by  his 
sobriquet  of  "Plon-Plon,"  who  bore  a  striking 
likeness  to  the  first  Napoleon.  With  him  was 
his  gentle,  pretty  young  wife,  the  Princess 
Clothilde,  who  had  emerged  from  the  safe, 
sunny  shelter  of  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  to  be  given  in  marriage  to  him,  and  to 
live  for  many  sad  years  in  the  cold  shade  of  his 
neglect.  Near  the  Empress  was  her  faithful 
attendant,  Dr.  Evans,  the  American  dentist. 
He  was  a  loyal  courtier  in  the  train  of  the  Em- 
press of  the  French  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity 
and  power,  and  still  more  loyal  to  the  helpless 
Spanish  woman  in  that  dark  hour  when, 
stripped  of  rank  and  power,  she  was  fleeing  for 
her  life! 

Coming  across  the  lawn  from  the  paddock, 
surrounded  by  admirers,  I  recognised  a  coun- 
trywoman, the  beautiful  Mrs.  Ritchie  (now  Mrs. 
Adair),  a  daughter  of  General  Wadsworth,  of 
New  York. 

126 


NUBAR  PASHA  AND  AUBER 

A  stately  man,  with  a  complexion  resem- 
bling a  pomegranate  which  has  hung  a  trifle  too 
long  in  the  sun;  with  a  long,  drooping  mous- 
tache; with  hands  and  feet  remarkable  for  their 
smallness  and  perfection  of  shape;  with  dark, 
impenetrable  eyes, —  was  Nubar  Pasha,  chief 
minister  to  Ismail  Pasha,  then  Khedive  of 
Egypt,  and  grandfather  of  the  present  Khedive. 
At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  Nubar  Pasha,  an 
Armenian  noble,  was  considered  one  of  the 
foremost  diplomatists  in  Europe,  being  ranked 
as  second  only  to  Prince  Gortschakoff. 

Standing  in  the  front  rank  of  the  gay  crowd 
was  a  dapper  little  man,  with  a  faint  pair  of 
legs  encased  in  lavender  trousers  and  support- 
ing a  fragile  body  that  was  trimly  buttoned  in- 
to a  perfectly  fitting  bright  blue  surtout,  his 
breast  ornamented  with  a  red  rose.  The  very 
latest  thing  in  hats  covered  his  snow-white 
hair.  This  was  Auber,  the  composer.  He  was 
at  that  time  more  than  eighty  years  of  age, 
but  to  all  appearance  as  gay  and  debonair 
and  as  full  of  interest  in  the  scene  about  him 
as  if  he  had  been  a  boy  of  twenty. 

Not  far  from  Auber  stood  Verdi,  who  at  that 
127 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

time  was  engaged  in  finishing  his  opera,  "Aida," 
composed  at  the  order  of  Ismail  Pasha.  Ismail 
was  building  an  opera-house  at  Cairo,  which 
"Aida"  opened  with  great  eclat,  Verdi  himself 
conducting. 

Prominent  in  the  paddock,  moving  about 
among  his  compatriots,  was  Leonard  Jerome, 
the  father  of  Mrs.  Cornwallis  West,  formerly 
Lady  Randolph  Churchill,  and  grandfather 
to  Winston  Churchill.  Leonard  Jerome  was 
easily  one  of  the  most  distinguished-looking 
men  present.  There,  too,  was  Harry  Stone, 
a  notable  American  of  that  day.  And  there 
was  Cora  Pearl,  then  one  of  the  features  of 
Paris.  She  was  reclining  in  a  perfectly  ap- 
pointed victoria,  and  was  dressed  in  an  ethereal- 
looking  costume  of  pale  mauve.  Her  poodle, 
which  sat  on  the  low  front  seat,  solemnly  blink- 
ing at  her,  was  dyed  the  same  delicate  shade 
of  mauve. 

Such  were  Longchamps,  and  the  Grand  Prix 
in  the  days  of  the  Third  Empire.  And  when 
one  remembers  Paris  as  it  was  then,  when  one 
remembers  the  gaiety,  the  brightness,  the 
beauty  that  were  everywhere,  and  then  is 

128 


IMPERIAL  PARIS 

brought  into  close  view  of  the  rough  face  of 
republican  France  as  she  is  to-day,  one  is  in- 
clined to  cry  with  the  Moors  of  old : 

"Aye  de  me,  Alhama!" 


129 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ROYALTY  AND  RANK — FONTAINEBLEAU  AND  "THE  BLACK 
EAGLE"  —  ACROSS  THE  ALPS  —  ITALY  —  ALEXANDRIA 
—  THE  AMERICAN  TRAVELLER  —  RAMLEH  —  CLEOPA- 
TRA—  THE  BAWAUB — A  MASCULINE  CHAMBERMAID 

I  REMAINED  for  several  months  in  Paris  in  that 
summer  of  1869,  and  during  that  time  I  saw 
a  good  bit  of  the  high  and  mighty-nesses  of  the 
Court  and  of  the  Third  Empire.  Being  con- 
nected, as  I  was,  through  my  immediate  family, 
with  an  important  diplomatic  post,  I  was  in 
a  peculiarly  fortunate  position  for  this  purpose. 

But  I  was  never  specially  impressed  by  rank; 
perhaps  my  stage  life  and  experience  had  rather 
taken  the  edge  off  any  feeling  of  awe  and  rev- 
erence for  titles,  even  the  highest. 

I  had  queened  it  myself  not  a  few  times  on  the 
stage,  and  as  for  duchesses  and  countesses, 
why,  they  had  been  as  plenty  as  blackberries 
in  season;  and  the  only  difference  I  have  ever 
been  able  to  see  between  the  real  thing  in  titles 
and  the  mimic  is  that  there  is  a  good  bit  more 

130 


"THE  BLACK  EAGLE " 

of  rest  and  ease  of  mind  in  the  mimic,  when 
one  can  take  off  the  crown  jewels  and  regalia 
and  go  off  behind  the  scenes  and  be  "your 
simple,  honest,  independent  self." 

Rather  than  any  of  the  gorgeous  functions, 
which  it  was  my  lot  to  attend,  there  remain  in 
my  mind,  as  recollections  of  that  time,  pleasant 
memories  of  short  trips  made  to  some  one  or 
other  of  the  many  delightful  little  places  that 
lie  within  easy  distance  from  and  all  around 
Paris.  Such,  for  example  was  an  excursion  to 
Fontainebleau ;  and,  being  there,  of  course  to 
the  inn  of  the  "Black  Eagle."  This  has  been 
an  inn  since  early  in  the  sixteen-hundreds,  and 
it  is  to-day  —  or  was  a  few  years  ago  —  the 
same  in  every  feature  that  it  was  in  that  far- 
away time. 

It  is  a  low,  two-storied  cottage,  built  around 
three  sides  of  a  cool,  damp,  shady,  brick-paved 
courtyard,  furnished  with  quaint  rustic  tables 
and  chairs;  and  here  you  can  sit  and  take  your 
meal,  and  look  across  to  the  Forest  of  Fon- 
tainebleau and  wish  that  the  stately  old  trees 
that  are  nodding  and  whispering  to  each  other 
would  tell  some  of  the  secrets  of  the  old  days 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

of  royal  splendour  that  they  have  witnessed. 
And  if  you  propose  to  spend  the  night  at  the 
little  inn,  you  will  be  shown  with  great  cere- 
mony up  a  crooked,  narrow,  winding  stairway 
into  a  bedroom  about  twelve  feet  square,  with 
a  much-broken  brick  floor,  and,  by  way  of 
luxury,  a  bit  of  carpet  about  as  large  as  a 
good-sized  pocket-handkerchief  spread  at  the 
side  of  the  bed;  but  always  with  the  inevitable 
mirror  over  the  chimney-piece,  and  with  the 
equally  inevitable  pair  of  vases  and  clock  upon 
it,  and  the  picture  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  hang- 
ing over  the  head  of  the  bed. 

And  when  you  are  left  alone  in  possession  of 
this  room,  and  look  about  you,  and  become 
aware  of  the  shadows  that  lurk  in  the  corners 
and  dart  out  at  you  as  your  solitary  candle 
flares  and  flickers,  you  find  your  envy  of  those 
folk  who  lived  in  the  "good  old  times"  giving 
way  to  a  feeling  of  thankfulness  that  you  are 
here  in  this  prosaic,  conventional  twentieth  cen- 
tury, where  you  can  command  the  ugly  but 
comforting  steam-radiator  and  the  common- 
place gas-meter. 

After  a  stay  of  some  months  in  Paris,  I  started 
132 


CROSSING  THE  ALPS 

for  Italy  via  Mont  Cenis.  The  building  of  the 
celebrated  tunnel  had  just  been  decided  upon, 
but  I  was  able  to  avail  myself  of  the  journey 
over  the  mountains  instead  of  through  them, 
as  travellers  are  now  obliged  to  do.  The  ex- 
perience was  replete  with  interest  and  pleasure, 
an  incident  which  occurred  during  the  trip 
adding  greatly  to  both. 

About  midway,  having  reached  the  topmost 
peak  of  Mont  Cenis,  we  were  met  by  an  obstacle, 
the  recent  heavy  rains  having  caused  a  wash- 
out on  the  road,  and  we  were  obliged  to  leave 
the  coaches  and  to  walk  a  mile  or  two  down 
the  mountain  side.  It  was  rather  a  curious 
sensation  to  find  one's  self  trudging  along  the 
identical  road  over  which  Hannibal  led  his 
army,  and  Napoleon  marched  his  forces  on  his 
raid  against  his  Italian  neighbours. 

Through  Turin,  Ancona,  Verona,  and  many 
other  old  Italian  towns  around  which  is  en- 
twined so  much  historic  lore  and  romance,  we 
went  to  Venice,  and  thence  by  steamer  to  Alex- 
andria. 

To  offer  any  detailed  description  of  the  port  of 
133 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

Alexandria,  which  is  now  as  well  known  to 
travellers  as  is  New  York's  beautiful  harbour 
or  the  Golden  Gate,  would  be  useless,  and 
the  same  may  be  said  of  the  city  itself,  which 
is  one  of  the  most  cosmopolitan  cities  in  the 
world. 

As  its  heterogeneous  mass  of  humanity  is 
composed  of  Christians,  Copts,  Jews,  Moham- 
medans, Greeks,  Armenians,  Turks,  Arabs, 
Albanians,  Maltese,  Spaniards,  French,  Italians, 
Germans,  Scandinavians,  Britons,  Americans, 
and  any  and  every  other  sort  of  folk,  known 
or  unknown,  and  all  wear,  as  if  by  concerted 
arrangement,  their  respective  national  cos- 
tumes, the  streets  of  the  town  present  a  most 
kaleidoscopic  effect.  And  as  the  representa- 
tives of  each  and  every  one  of  these  nationali- 
ties, by  the  law  of  attraction,  seek  their  own 
countrymen,  the  place  is  divided  and  sub- 
divided into  small  colonies,  with  the  result  that 
it  resembles  a  map,  with  its  little  patches  of 
colour  placed  here  and  there. 

But  of  all  the  many  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men  who  trot  over  this  globe,  for  a  good  travel- 
ler commend  me  to  my  compatriots.  The 

•34 


THE  AMERICAN  TRAVELLER 

American  tourist  is,  to  my  mind,  the  most  all- 
around  sensible  and  adaptable  traveller.  He 
goes  a  long  way,  and  usually  at  great  cost,  to 
see  a  foreign  country.  Finding  himself  in  that 
faraway  land,  he  at  once  and  earnestly  sets 
about  seeing  it  in  the  most  practical  fashion. 
He  throws  himself  into  every  new  situation 
that  presents  itself  with  a  good-humoured 
gusto,  and  with  a  determination  to  get  all  the 
enjoyment  possible  out  of  it.  As  a  natural  con- 
sequence of  this  highly  commendable  disposi- 
tion, in  Egypt  and  throughout  the  East  the 
American  is  to  be  found  in  the  coolest,  lightest, 
and  most  unbecoming  costume,  including,  of 
course,  an  enormous  puggaree  wound  around 
his  hat,  the  white  ends  dangling  down  behind 
like  the  sash  of  "a  little  maid  at  school." 

And  he  rides,  when  he  would  much  rather 
walk,  on  the  little  native  donkey,  which  he  could 
much  more  easily  and  comfortably  carry.  He 
makes  miscellaneous  and  indiscriminate  pur- 
chases in  the  "Mouski,"  and  of  native  merchants 
generally,  at  fabulous  prices,  buying  entirely  use- 
less articles,  manufactured  with  special  refer- 
ence to  him,  and  such  as  him,  in  New  England. 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

He  sits  for  hours  in  front  of  a  dingy  little  cafe, 
listening  to  and  taking  great  seeming  interest 
in  the  ceaseless  chatter  which  goes  on  around 
him,  made  up  of  a  polyglot  of  bad  Italian  and 
worse  French,  Turkish,  Arabic,  and  what  not 
else,  while  he  drinks  innumerable  cups  of  Turk- 
ish coffee.  This  is  black,  bitter,  and  gritty. 
He  does  not  like  it  at  all,  and  he  would  on  no 
account  touch  it  if  he  were  at  home.  In  brief, 
he  makes  himself  thoroughly  uncomfortable 
and  enjoys  himself  immensely. 

Finding  Alexandria  hot,  uninviting,  and  in- 
fected by  all  the  known  plagues  of  Egypt  and 
a  few  more,  I  went  in  a  few  days  after  my 
arrival  to  Ramleh.  This  is  a  semi-European 
colony  of  villas  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, about  four  miles  from  Alexandria.  On 
the  spot  now  called  Ramleh  once  stood  the 
ancient  city  of  Alexandria,  in  the  days  of  its 
splendour  and  glory.  I  was  so  fortunate  as 
to  secure  for  occupancy  a  house  built  upon 
a  famous  foundation.  Between  it  and  the 
sapphire  sea,  whose  waves  lapped  the  shore  a 
few  paces  away,  there  lay,  buried  in  the  sand, 

.36 


AMERICAN  HOME  IN  EGYPT 

the  ruins  of  Cleopatra's  palace,  and  at  a  short 
distance  was  the  spot  where  Octavius  Caesar 
set  up  his  camp  when,  after  defeating  Marc 
Antony,  he  came  as  the  conqueror  of  Egypt  and 
of  Egypt's  queen.  But  that  august  sovereign, 
true  to  the  dictates  of  the  nature  that  had  given 
her  the  power  to  rule  men, —  and,  through  men, 
nations, —  acknowledged  only  death  as  her 
victor. 

Upon  this  historic  spot  I  set  up  my  establish- 
ment, raised  the  American  flag,  and  proceeded 
to  the  task  of  conducting  in  Egypt  an  American 
home  on  strictly  American  principles.  I  do 
not  think  that  that  most  famous  of  all  blunder- 
ers, Handy  Andy,  ever  succeeded  in  making 
more  of  them  than  I  did  in  the  ordering  of  my 
domestic  affairs  while  I  was  learning  my  way 
about. 

For  an  example :  It  is  the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try for  all  good  houses  to  employ  a  hall  porter, 
whose  designation  in  the  national  vernacular, 
is  bawaub.  His  is  the  highest  and  most  hon- 
ourable position  —  after  the  janissary  —  of  the 
staff  of  servants,  and  it  is  usual  to  select  for  it  a 
person  of  ancient  and  honourable  lineage.  It 

'37 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

seems  that  the  one  who  had  been  chosen  for 
this  post  in  my  house  filled  the  requirements 
thoroughly,  being  able  to  trace  back  his  family 
three,  four,  or  five  thousand  years,  and,  as 
additional  recommendation,  he  enjoyed  the 
honour  of  never  having  been  known  to  have 
done  an  honest  day's  work. 

Clad  in  a  long  garment  of  spotless  white,  the 
duty  of  this  functionary  is  to  sit  cross-legged, 
or,  when  he  believed  himself  to  be  unobserved, 
to  lie  full  length,  on  a  sort  of  camp  bedstead, 
composed  of  reeds,  at  the  entrance  of  the  house, 
which  is  usually  a  courtyard  of  more  or  less 
magnitude.  Here  he  receives  the  cards  of 
visitors  and  passes  them  on  to  some  one  of  the 
indoor  servants.  And  so  they  are  passed  from 
hand  to  hand,  and  if  the  mistress  of  the  house 
happens  to  have  been  born  under  a  lucky  star, 
in  an  hour  or  two  after  they  have  been  started 
on  this  circuitous  trip  she  may  receive  the 
"pasteboards." 

Now  I,  being  entirely  ignorant  of  this  custom 
and  of  the  character  of  the  duties  of  a  bawaub, 
saw  only  a  long,  lean,  elderly  person,  clad  in 
what  appeared  to  me  a  more  seemly  garment 

138 


A  MASCULINE  CHAMBERMAID 

than  that  worn  by  the  other  servants,  and  I 
concluded  that  she  was,  or  ought  to  be,  the 
chambermaid,  and  set  her  to  work  as  such. 
The  more  strenuously  the  old  one  seemed  to 
object,  the  more  urgently  I  insisted;  and  in  the 
performance  of  these  tasks  the  antique  bronze 
was  often  admitted  to  ceremonies  which  are 
usually  sacred  to  feminine  view. 

As  these  tasks  were  most  unwillingly  gone 
about,  and  as  their  performance  was  usually  ac- 
companied by  many  low  mutterings  suggestive  of 
the  Southern  darkey,  who  is  given  to  the  dual 
habit  of  securing  the  last  word  and  of  mutter- 
ing "cuss  words,"  I  christened  the  old  servant 
"Cussie-cussie." 

It  was  not  until  the  chief  janissary  begged  for 
an  audience,  and  with  many  apologies  and 
salaams  imparted  to  me  the  bawaub's  ancient 
lineage,  sex,  and  position,  that  I  learned  what 
an  injustice  I  had  been  committing. 

With  profuse  apologies  I  promptly  restored 
my  bawaub  to  the  duties  and  siestas  of  his  time- 
honoured  place,  but  there  was  no  denying  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  thoroughly  indoctrin- 
ated in  the  duties  of  a  first-class  chambermaid. 

139 


CHAPTER  XIX 

LOVE,  THE  GREAT  LEVELLER  —  THE  SERVANT  PROBLEM 

IN  EGYPT  —  HOW  THE  GROCER  IMPORTED  HIS  BRIDE  — 
WOMEN  IN  THE  EAST  —  THE  HAREMS — AN  ORIENTAL 
LADY'S  CALL  UPON  AN  AMERICAN  WOMAN  —  THE  MAN 

IN  THE  CASE  —  HUMAN  NATURE 

FOR  a  while  after  my  arrival  in  Alexandria,  be- 
fore going  to  Ramleh,  I  stopped  at  a  hotel,  the 
New  Callot,  the  proprietor  being  an  Italian 
named  Pantalini.  While  there  an  incident  oc- 
curred which  proves  that  love  levels  all  lan- 
guages as  well  as  all  ranks. 

It  seems  that  Signer  Pantalini  had  assimilated 
some  of  the  domestic  ideas  of  the  unspeakable 
Turk,  and  had  reduced  them  to  practice  in  his 
daily  life  and  in  his  own  hotel.  He  had  caused 
to  be  fitted  up  in  the  most  sumptuous  fashion 
a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  top  floor,  and  there  he 
had  installed  his  inamorata. 

The  adjoining  suite  had  been  assigned  to  a 
young  American  "dude,"  who  was  doing  Europe 
and  the  East  after  the  most  approved  fashion 
140 


AN  AMERICAN  DUDE 

of  dudes.  These  two  suites  had  no  doors  of 
communication,  but  the  windows  of  each  opened 
upon  the  same  balcony,  an  airy,  mysterious- 
looking  little  trysting-place.  But  what  of  that  ? 
The  young  American  could  speak  no  Italian, 
and  Signor  Pantalini's  fair  one  could  utter  her 
thoughts  and  wishes  only  in  the  sibilant  syllables 
of  her  own  sunny  Italy. 

Notwithstanding  these  circumstances,  which 
would  seem  to  have  been  enough  to  place  an 
insurmountable  obstacle  to  any  hope  of  even 
acquaintance  between  these  neighbours,  in  just 
a  fortnight  from  the  time  when  the  young  Yan- 
kee spark  had  been  installed  in  that  eyrie  he 
levanted  with  Signor  Pantalini's  cam  sposa! 

Once  I  found  myself  installed  in  my  own 
house,  I  had  great  difficulty  in  reconciling  my- 
self to  the  absence  of  women  servants.  But  in 
Egypt  and  throughout  the  Orient  the  order  of 
service  is  conducted  on  distinctly  contrary  prin- 
ciples to  anything  to  which  we  of  this  Western 
hemisphere  are  accustomed. 

Men  perform  all  the  domestic  and  indoor  ser- 
vice, while  it  is  no  unusual  thing  to  see  women 

141 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

toiling  in  the  fields,  doing  work  upon  buildings 
in  course  of  erection,  and  generally  accom- 
plishing those  tasks  which  we  are  accustomed 
to  see  performed  by  men.  In  my  efforts  to 
find  some  women  for  my  household  I  made 
inquiries  of  the  various  trades-people  with 
whom  I  dealt,  and  my  grocer,  a  good-looking 
young  Englishman,  told  me  he  knew  of  a  young 
English  woman  who  he  thought  would  be  will- 
ing to  come  out  if  her  expenses  were  paid.  As 
to  her  qualification,  he  could  recommend  her 
most  highly.  Negotiations  were  at  once  con- 
cluded. I  advanced  the  sum  of  twelve  pounds, 
and  as  fast  as  steam  could  fetch  her  the  young 
woman  came  out.  I  had  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  the  grocer's  recommendation  was 
entirely  sincere,  for  within  a  week  of  the  young 
woman's  arrival  she  and  her  sponsor  were 
married ! 

A  very  brief  residence  in  the  Orient  convinced 
me  that  the  women  of  the  East  not  only  do  not 
need,  nor  do  they  wish  for,  the  sympathy  of 
their  sisters  of  the  West,  but  they  profoundly 
pity  us.  Indeed  they  go  further:  they  despise 
us!  And  this  is  because  they  agree  with  the 

142 


VISITING  THE  HAREMS 

men  that  we  are,  one  and  all,  objects  of  ex- 
treme indifference  to  our  husbands,  lovers,  or 
brothers.  If  we  were  not,  these  our  husbands, 
lovers,  and  brothers  would  not  allow  us  to 
wander  about  the  world  with  uncovered  faces, 
thus  making  it  possible  for  other  men  to  look 
upon  us. 

A  somewhat  embarrassing  instance  of  this 
peculiar  point  of  view  occurred  to  me.  Through 
my  relations  with  the  diplomatic  circle  I  enjoyed 
many  privileges  not  usually  accorded  to  Chris- 
tians in  a  Moslem  country.  One  of  these  was 
to  visit  many  harems,  particularly  those  of 
the  Viceroy  and  of  families  high  in  position 
about  his  Court.  There  was  one  lady,  the  wife 
of  an  official  of  high  rank  in  the  viceregal  ser- 
vice, whom  I  had  met  several  times,  and  be- 
tween whom  and  myself  there  had  come  to  be 
a  sort  of  friendship  which  had  grown  and  flour- 
ished with  the  help  of  an  interpretess  and  with 
the  further  aid  of  such  fragments  of  Arabic  as 
I  had  managed  to  pick  up. 

This  lady  had  several  times  expressed  a  great 
desire  to  visit  me  in  my  home,  to  see  for  herself 
how  we  Christians  lived  our  everyday  lives.  I 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

frankly  urged  her  to  do  so.  But  if  I  fancied 
that  this  interchange  of  wishes  was  sufficient, 
I  soon  found  my  mistake.  All  sorts  of  per- 
missions had  to  be  obtained  from  all  sorts  of 
persons,  official  and  unofficial.  One  by  one 
these  obstacles  disappeared  before  a  vigorous 
and  more  or  less  continuous  waving  of  the 
American  flag. 

At  last  all  was  arranged.  It  was  left  for  me 
only  to  name  a  day  and  hour  for  the  visit,  with 
a  solemn  promise  on  my  part  that  on  that  day 
I  must  banish  every  man  who  belonged  to  my 
establishment.  I  must  be  sure  that  from  the 
moment  the  dark-eyed  daughter  of  the  sun 
crossed  my  threshold  that  threshold  must  be  so 
well  guarded  that  no  masculine  eye  should  have 
the  opportunity  to  gaze  upon  those  charms 
that  were  sacred  to  her  lord. 

When  the  cavalcade  bringing  me  my  visitor 
arrived,  it  consisted,  first,  of  the  Laiee,  then  of 
two  eunuchs,  each  coal-black  and  enormously 
fat,  on  horseback,  then  the  carriage,  with  an- 
other eunuch,  as  fat  and  as  black,  on  the  box 
with  the  driver,  the  carriage  being  jealously 
closed  on  all  sides.  Then,  on  each  side  of  the 

144 


DUTIES  OF  EUNUCHS 

carriage,  two  more  eunuchs,  with  great  curved 
swords  attached  to  their  sides  with  broad  red 
sashes. 

It  stopped,  then,  with  a  great  jingling  of 
spurs  and  swords,  and  a  great  hubbub  of 
voices  of  every  key,  the  two  huge,  black 
masses  of  humanity  heading  the  procession 
were  dragged,  and  pulled,  and  helped,  to  roll 
to  the  ground.  Once  there,  they  took  their 
positions  on  either  side  of  the  carriage.  The 
same  ceremony  having  been  gone  through  with 
the  other  two  eunuchs,  they  also  ranged  them- 
selves at  the  side  of  the  first  two.  When  the 
carriage  door  was  opened  I  saw,  partly  lifted, 
partly  rolled,  what  might  have  been  Jack  Fal- 
staff  himself  new-risen  from  the  buck-basket. 
A  closer  inspection  revealed  only  a  huge,  ani- 
mated grey  bundle,  which  rapidly  disappeared 
into  the  house. 

At  the  same  moment  my  janissary  opened  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room,  advanced  a  short 
distance  into  the  room  on  tip-toe,  and  in  low, 
mysterious,  whispered  tones  told  me  she  was 
coming;  then,  carrying  his  shoes  in  one  hand 
and  impressing  silence  with  the  other,  he  swiftly 

145 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

and  silently  withdrew.  I  began  to  feel  as  if  I 
were  playing  a  walking-lady  in  a  farce  and  did 
not  know  my  lines.  Again  the  door  opened 
and  the  grey  bundle  entered.  Now  I  began 
to  feel  in  some  slight  degree  mistress  of  the  situ- 
ation, and,  being  more  at  ease  myself,  I  deter- 
mined that  I  would  do  all  in  my  power  to  put 
my  visitor  in  the  same  condition.  I  summoned 
all  my  small  stock  of  Arabic ;  I  made  her  under- 
stand that  we  were  quite  alone  and  safe  from 
all  fear  of  interruption;  that  she  must  take  off 
her  "things,"  and  we  would  have  a  real  old- 
fashioned  Yankee  visit. 

I  helped  to  unroll  her  out  from  her  grey  silk 
sheet,  only  to  find  her  encased  in  a  nondescript 
garment  of  the  same  material,  somewhat  re- 
sembling an  old-fashioned  pelisse  —  only  more 
so. 

I  decided  that  this  also  should  come  off,  feel- 
ing quite  sure  that  the  sad-coloured  sack  was 
not  the  sort  of  thing  which  she  usually  wore; 
and,  after  removing  this  and  her  yashmak, 
there  stood  before  me  a  very  pretty  woman, 
lightly  dressed  in  a  motley  attire  of  bright- 
coloured,  ill-made,  and  worse-fitting  garments 

146 


A  DELIGHTFUL  SPMPOSIUM 

in  which  there  was  no  redeeming  feature, 
there  being  neither  grace,  beauty,  nor  comfort 
to  recommend  them.  Her  ears,  neck,  breast, 
arms,  and  fingers  were  loaded  with  heavy,  bar- 
baric-looking jewellery;  her  little  pudgy  fingers 
were  purple  and  pressed  out  of  shape  with 
rings  almost  to  their  ends;  and  on  her  head  was 
perched  a  sort  of  miniature  turban,  made  out 
of  a  wisp  of  white  tarletan,  fastened  with  an 
aigrette  which  was  set  with  diamonds  of  almost 
priceless  value. 

And  then  we  set  out  to  talk, —  she  to  ask  and 
I  to  answer  questions;  and  what  we  could  not 
say  with  our  tongues  we  said  with  our  eyes,  our 
hands,  our  shoulders. 

I  showed  her  some  books  and  pictures,  and, 
what  interested  her  much  more,  my  gowns  and 
bonnets  and  frippery.  I  was  not  long  from 
Paris,  and  the  time  flew.  A  couple  of  hours 
seemed  like  so  many  minutes.  Then  we  had 
luncheon,  and  no  two  youngsters  at  school,  dis- 
cussing a  box  of  goodies  from  home,  ever 
enjoyed  a  treat  more  or  extracted  more  fun 
from  it,  than  we  got  out  of  that  luncheon. 

We  were  recalled  from  our  symposium  by  a 

M7 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

knock  at  the  door.  Thinking  it  was  some 
addition  to  our  meal,  I  said,  "Come  in!"  The 
door  opened,  and  there  strode  into  the  room — 
a  man ! —  a  real,  live,  sure-enough  man !  And 
no  common  sort  of  man  either, —  a  true  son  of 
Anak,  six-foot-three,  with  a  figure  to  match 
his  height,  a  bearing  that  set  off  both  height 
and  figure,  and  a  pair  of  bright  blue  eyes  that 
set  one's  own  a-dancing  just  to  look  into  them. 
In  he  strode  with  the  confident  air  of  one  who 
felt  sure  of  his  welcome. 

At  the  first  glimpse  of  this  spectacle  my  little 
guest,  with  a  terrified  shriek,  fled  to  the  farthest 
end  of  the  room  and  concealed  as  much  as  was 
possible  of  herself  in  the  folds  of  the  window 
curtains.  I  am  not,  however,  certain  that  she 
covered  her  eyes. 

I  flew  to  my  —  for  the  nonce  —  unwelcome 
guest,  gave  him  the  "right-about,"  and,  to  his 
great  surprise,  led  him  from  the  room.  Once 
on  the  outside,  and  the  door  securely  closed, 
I  explained  the  situation  to  him.  He  increased 
my  embarrassment  by  being  greatly  amused  and 
by  insisting  upon  returning  and  making  his 
apologies  to  the  lady. 

148 


AN  UNWELCOME  VISITOR 

The  explanation  of  the  presence  of  my  un- 
expected guest  was  very  simple.  He  was  an 
American  officer  in  the  service  of  the  Viceroy, 
was  upon  terms  of  so  great  intimacy  with  my 
household  as  to  feel  himself  free  to  dispense 
with  the  ceremony  of  sending  in  his  card,  and 
in  coming  directly  to  my  drawing-room  he  was 
only  following  his  usual  custom.  The  presence 
of  the  carriage  and  suite  of  my  visitor,  waiting 
in  the  courtyard,  was  an  occurrence  too  com- 
mon to  attract  his  attention,  and  the  stately 
bawaubj  whose  duty  it  was  to  have  warned  him, 
was,  as  usual,  fast  asleep. 

I  returned  to  my  trembling  guest  and  set  about 
soothing  her  nerves  and  calming  her  fears,  and 
I  found  this  a  much  easier  task  than  I  had  dared 
to  hope.  Indeed  I  soon  found  that  she  took 
quite  a  Christian  view  of  the  situation.  It  was 
not  so  much  the  presence  of  the  man  that 
alarmed  her,  as  it  was  the  fear  of  his  presence 
being  found  out,  thus  proving  that  wherever 
you  place  us,  Moslem  or  Mohammedan,  Turk 
or  Jew  or  Christian,  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
human  nature  about  us,  after  all. 


149 


CHAPTER  XX 

AMERICAN  PATRIOTISM — WOMAN'S  STATUS  IN  AMERICA 
AND  THE  EAST  CONTRASTED  —  EUNUCHS  —  EUROPEAN 
WIVES  OF  MOHAMMEDAN  MAGNATES 

I  KNOW  of  nothing  that  is  so  surely  calculated 
to  develop  the  patriotism  of  an  American  wom- 
an as  a  sojourn  in  a  foreign  country.  This 
is  especially  the  case  if  that  sojourn  be  in  what 
we  are  pleased  to  term  "heathen"  territory. 
At  one  time  and  another  I  have  lived  much 
abroad — in  England,  in  various  Continental 
cities,  and  in  the  Orient;  and  the  effect  of  each 
of  those  experiences  has  been  to  send  me  home 
with  my  patriotism  and  pride  of  country  in- 
creased and  intensified. 

In  no  other  country  is  woman  so  respected,  so 
sheltered  and  protected,  as  in  America.  In  no 
other  country  are  men  so  chivalrous,  so  gallant 
to  women,  so  careful  and  considerate  of  them, 
as  in  America.  And,  at  the  risk  of  being  dis- 
cursive, I  would  like  to  say  that  I  think  we  have 
here  two  classes  of  men  who  stand  pre-eminent 

150 


WOMEN  OF  THE  EAST 

in  their  chivalrous  and  protective  attitude  to- 
ward women, —  railroad-men  and  firemen. 

The  Orient,  like  any  heathen  land,  is  an  es- 
pecially unpleasant  place  of  sojourn  for  a  Chris- 
tian woman.  The  Mohammedan,  by  reason 
of  his  faith,  despises  women.  And  his  nature, 
his  habits,  his  education  and  everything  that 
goes  to  make  up  his  life,  develops  and  fosters 
this  feeling  of  contempt  for  women. 

A  Christian  woman,  if  she  once  realised,  in 
ever  so  small  a  degree,  the  Mohammedan  charac- 
ter and  nature,  would  indignantly  repel  and  re- 
pudiate as  an  insult  the  sleek,  smiling,  salacious 
compliments  so  freely  offered  her  by  an  Oriental. 

Life  in  the  Orient  is  most  irksome  to  an 
American  woman,  despite  its  many  charms  of  cli- 
mate, colour,  beauty  and  mystery.  An  Amer- 
ican woman  is  born  and  reared  in  freedom. 
She  is  used  to  go  and  come  as  she  pleases,  her 
own  judgment  and  her  own  sense  of  the  pro- 
prieties being  her  only  censors;  and  it  is  very 
irritating  to  her  to  be  obliged  to  live  in  a  land 
where  she  must  not,  under  any  circumstances, 
walk  out.  When  she  appears  upon  the  street 
it  must  be  in  a  carriage. 

'51 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

If  she  be  a  person  of  social  standing,  she  must 
be  attended.  If  she  is  the  mistress  of  a  house- 
hold, she  cannot  go  to  market  in  the  good  old- 
fashioned  way  to  provide  for  her  family;  but 
she  must  retain  a  man-servant  who  is  at  once 
major-domo  and  steward.  He  must  receive 
the  money  for  the  marketing,  and  she  must  take 
what  he  chooses  to  return  to  her,  always  allow- 
ing a  liberal  sum  for  his  stealings.  These  are 
only  a  few  of  the  restraints  which  meet  an 
American  or  European  woman  at  every  step. 

But  this  very  absence  of  all  freedom,  and  the 
control  and  espionage  that  constantly  surround 
the  Oriental  woman,  are  the  source  of  her 
highest  pride.  Such  a  woman  of  rank  or  social 
position  passes  her  life  entirely  among  the  wom- 
en and  children  of  her  own  household.  She 
has  no  social  world  beyond  the  precincts  of  her 
own  hareem  (or  harem,  as  it  is  usually  spelled 
in  English) ;  she  has  no  social  duties  or  obliga- 
tions, no  domestic  occupations.  Life,  with  her, 
is  a  continual  condition  of  loll. 

The  portion  of  the  house  of  an  Oriental  which 
is  dedicated  to  the  use  of  the  women  and  children 
comprising  his  family  is  entirely  separated  from 

152 


POWER  OF  THE  EUNUCHS 

the  part  of  the  house  inhabited  by  the  master, 
or  pasha.  And  the  power  of  admission  to  the 
women's  quarters,  the  harem,  is  vested  only  in 
the  pasha  or  the  head  eunuch.  The  door  is 
always  jealously  locked  and  guarded,  and  ad- 
mission to  or  egress  from  the  harem  can  be 
obtained  only  by  the  favour  of  the  eunuch. 

This  power  makes  the  eunuch  king  of  the 
house.  The  Oriental  women,  far  from  resent- 
ing this  state  of  things,  are  proud  of  the 
isolation  and  seclusion  in  which  they  pass 
their  lives,  and  interpret  their  imprisonment 
as  proof  of  the  admiration  and  love  which 
their  husbands  entertain  for  them. 

Their  explanation  of  the  freedom  which  Chris- 
tian women  enjoy  is  that  Christian  husbands 
are  indifferent  to  their  wives,  and  it  is  because 
of  that  indifference  that  the  poor,  unloved 
creatures  may  wander  where  they  will  with 
uncovered  faces,  permitting  all  men  to  look 
upon  them.  When  I  was  in  Alexandria  and 
Cairo  it  was  my  fortune  to  have  upon  my  visit- 
ing-list quite  a  number  of  harems,  including 
those  of  the  Viceroy. 

But  while  in  those  harems  there  was  much 

'51 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

splendour  and  magnificence,  there  was  an  utter 
absence  of  all  those  features  that  go  to  fill  the 
Anglo-Saxon  idea  of  home.  There  were  beau- 
tiful gardens,  brilliant  and  odorous  with  rare 
tropical  flowers;  music,  barbaric  if  you  will,  but 
dreamy  and  fascinating;  soft,  luxurious  divans; 
rare  fruits  and  delicious  confections,  sweets  and 
sherbets,  black  coffee  and  cigarettes. 

But  of  books,  or  pictures,  or  statuary,  or  of 
anything  that  appealed  to  the  intellect  or  the 
higher  nature,  there  was  not  a  trace.  Nor  was 
there  a  sign  of  the  sacred  privacy  of  the  home. 

While  I  was  in  Egypt  there  came  under  my 
notice  one  or  two  instances  wherein  European 
women,  dazzled  by  the  prospect  of  wealth  and 
luxury,  became  the  wives  of  Mohammedan 
magnates.  Nothing  more  tragic,  though  at  the 
same  time  more  grotesque,  than  were  the  lives 
they  led,  can  well  be  imagined. 

As  I  write  I  recall  the  case  of  a  bonnie  English 
girl,  about  twenty  years  old,  who  at  the  per- 
sistent solicitation  of  an  ambitious  and  im- 
pecunious widowed  mother  married  a  rich  old 
copper-coloured  pasha  of  about  sixty.  They 
had  one  child,  a  miserable,  whining,  weazen- 

154 


A  MOHAMMEDAN'S  WIFE 

faced,  copper-coloured  little  boy.  The  mother 
never  manifested  the  slightest  interest  in  this 
child.  Indeed  she  never  manifested  any  in- 
terest in  anything.  The  poor  girl  was  as  very 
a  slave  as  any  to  be  found  in  the  harem.  She 
would  gladly  have  given  all  her  laces  and  cash- 
meres and  jewels  for  a  pretty,  simple,  English 
print  gown;  as  gladly  have  exchanged  her  beau- 
tiful victoria  and  her  fine  horses,  with  which 
every  afternoon  she  used  to  drive, —  husband 
or  mother  beside  her, —  for  a  brief  scamper 
across  English  fields. 

One  day  she  escaped  from  her  splendid 
prison.  She  just  quietly  lay  down  and  died, — 
as  I  verily  believe,  from  sheer  lack  of  a  wish 
to  live. 


•55 


CHAPTER  XXI 

EGYPTIAN  DANCING-GIRLS  —  THE  VICEROY'S  MOTHER  — 
ORIENTAL  SPLENDOUR — A  NOBLEMAN  WITH  AN  HALLU- 
CINATION 

ONE  of  the  most  interesting  if  not  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  experiences  that  ever  came  in 
my  way  was  when  I  witnessed  an  exhibition  of 
Egyptian  dancing-girls. 

This  delectable  form  of  entertainment  is  one 
not  usually  patronised  by  women,  and  was 
vouchsafed  to  me  as  a  special  mark  of  favour 
by  the  mother  of  the  Viceroy,  who  was  un- 
doubtedly the  reigning  feminine  power  at  the 
Egyptian  Court.  Although  the  Viceroy  had 
at  this  time  four  wives,  all  legitimate  according 
to  Mohammedan  laws,  and  a  countless  train 
of  —  shall  we  say  "ladies  of  his  household  ?"  — 
his  mother  was  the  real  power,  and  she  it  was 
whom  his  Excellency  consulted  on  all  impor- 
tant questions  of  foreign  or  domestic  policy. 
Her  tact  and  authority  kept  up  a  semblance  of 
peace  in  that  vast  household,  for,  while  the 

156 


EGYPTIAN  DANCING-GIRLS 

eunuchs  ruled  the  wives,  she  ruled  the  eunuchs. 
She  it  was  who  prepared  all  the  food  of  which 
her  son  partook,  always  accompanying  him  on 
his  journeys  for  this  purpose.  With  this  old 
brown  lady,  who  must  have  been  between 
seventy  and  eighty  years  of  age,  I  had  found 
special  favour. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  there  were  a  num- 
ber of  American  women  tourists  in  Cairo;  and 
I  was  besieged  by  one  and  all  to  obtain  for  them 
some  glimpses  of  harem  life, —  one  merry  party 
of  Western  girls  insisting  that  they  should  see 
an  exhibition  of  dancing-girls.  The  request 
made,  time  had  to  be  taken  for  consideration, 
and  after  acquiescence  had  been  obtained  a 
day  had  to  be  set  when  the  dancing-girls  could 
be  obtained,  for  these  damsels  are  quite  as 
expensive  in  their  way  and  as  exacting  and 
capricious  as  are  other  prime  donne. 

The  powers  decided  that  the  affair  should 
come  off  at  the  Gezira  Palace,  the  most  spacious 
and  magnificent  of  all  the  Viceroy's  twenty-six 
domiciles.  A  general  invitation  was  issued  to 
the  wives  of  the  foreign  consuls.  They  were  all 
present  except  the  Duchesse  de  Montholon, 

*57 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

wife  of  the  French  consul-general,  who,  as  al- 
ways when  a  public  function  occurred,  was  too 
ill  to  be  present,  though  it  was  an  open  secret 
that  she,  being  a  Spanish  grandee  and  a  rigid 
Catholic,  never  presented  herself  at  any  of  the 
Egyptian  Court  functions. 

At  the  last  moment  a  difficulty  arose  in  our 
party,  several  of  the  ladies  being  in  deep  mourn- 
ing, and  it  was  impossible  that  they  should 
present  themselves  in  black.  To  do  so  was  to 
insult  the  Court. 

In  this  dilemma  all  sorts  of  expedients  were 
resorted  to.  Of  course  it  would  have  been  easy 
enough  for  them  to  meet  the  difficulty  if  they 
had  wished  to  obtain  fresh  toilettes  for  the  occa- 
sion; but  this  would  have  entailed  heavy  ex 
pense,  and  as  they  were  persons  of  moderate 
means,  and  the  costumes  would  have  been 
useless  to  them  afterward,  they  wished  to  evade 
the  ruling.  But  as  the  difficulties  grew,  their 
anxiety  to  attend  the  function  increased  in 
corresponding  degree. 

At  last  an  expedient  was  hit  upon.  The  ladies 
produced  from  their  trunks  various  shawls, 
large  and  small,  and  pieces  of  silk  from  Da- 

158 


ORIENTAL  SPLENDOUR 

mascus,  and  what  not  else,  and  with  a  light  and 
inexpensive  skirt  here,  a  showy  little  home-made 
bonnet  there,  and  a  graceful  if  somewhat  bizarre 
disposition  of  these  various  fabrics,  the  party 
presented  a  highly  picturesque  and  brilliant 
appearance.  The  most  gorgeous  effect  was 
made  by  the  chaperon.  Among  her  possessions 
was  a  large  crepe  shawl,  with  a  bright,  light-blue 
ground,  covered  at  intervals  with  all  sorts  of 
birds,  and  beasts  and  flowers  of  gorgeous 
colours.  When  this  shawl  was  stretched  across 
her  ample  shoulders,  the  spectacle  was  both 
instructive  and  inspiring. 

At  last  we  arrived  at  the  ponderous  gate  of  the 
Gezira  Palace,  whose  frowning  front  offered  no 
promise  of  the  scene  of  beauty  that  was  to  burst 
upon  us  on  entering  its  portals.  When  the 
janissary  of  the  American  Consulate  —  gor- 
geous in  fine  attire  and  carrying  his  silver  tip- 
staff of  office  with  great  gravity  and  dignity  — 
descended  from  his  official  post,  and  opened 
the  box  of  the  Consular  carriage,  and  presented 
the  viceregal  invitation,  the  Egyptian  guards  pre- 
sented arms,  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  drums 
beat,  the  gates  flew  open,  and  we  entered. 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

Beauty,  beauty,  beauty  everywhere!  A  be- 
wildering blaze  of  light  and  colour;  gleaming 
white  and  rose-coloured  marble  and  alabaster; 
the  air  filled  with  the  perfume  of  flowers,  the 
song  of  birds,  the  cool  tinkle  of  water  from  a 
fountain ! 

After  wandering  through  a  maze  of  this  beau- 
ty, sometimes  a  courtyard,  sometimes  a  garden, 
sometimes  a  lofty  hall,  we  were  ushered  into 
the  reception-hall.  Enthroned  on  a  dais  at  one 
end  of  this  magnificent  apartment  'sat  my  old 
brown  friend,  the  Viceroy's  mother;  grouped 
about  her,  but  not  upon  the  dais,  were  the 
Viceroy's  various  wives  and  favourites  and  the 
ladies  of  the  households  of  his  various  ministers 
and  officers  of  the  Court. 

Among  the  foreign  ladies  present,  conspicuous 
always  for  her  beauty,  was  the  then  Countess 
of  Dudley,  now  the  dowager.  This  beautiful 
woman  was  spending  some  time  in  Egypt  with 
her  husband,  who  was  suffering  from  one  of 
his  periodical  attacks  of  hallucination,  his 
especial  imagination  at  that  time  being  that  he 
was  a  mouse.  As  the  noble  gentleman  was 
about  sixty  years  old  and  carried  weight  for  age, 

1 60 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  DUDLEY 

he  was  somewhat  unwieldy  in  his  movements, 
and  his  attempts  to  retire  under  chairs  or  up 
chimneys  to  escape  from  imaginary  marauding 
cats  was  somewhat  embarrassing  in  general 
society. 

His  fair  young  Countess  was  less  than  half  his 
age.  It  was  amusing  to  see  the  effect  upon  the 
untutored  savage  when  her  ladyship  told  the 
viceregal  mother,  through  an  interpreter,  that 
she  had  left  several  children  at  home,  the  young- 
est of  whom  was  an  infant  of  a  few  months. 
Arabian  women  are  most  devoted  mothers. 

At  last  the  interminable  ceremony  of  sweets, 
sherbets,  and  coffee  was  at  an  end,  and  we 
arrived  at  the  cigarette  period.  Then  the 
dancing-girls  were  introduced.  At  first  there 
was  a  dreamy  fascination  about  the  exhibition, 
—  the  dim  light,  the  soft,  smothered  tinkle- 
tinkle  and  strum-strum  of  the  music,  the  beauty 
of  the  girls,  shining  with  golden  ornaments  and 
graceful  and  agile  as  young  fawns.  But  as  the 
music  increased  in  volume  and  measure,  as  the 
movements  of  the  dancers  kept  time  to  this 
change,  and  as  the  longer  they  dance  the  more 
we  saw  of  them,  one's  interest  changed  to 

161 


ROSE   EYTINGE 

languor,  the  languor  to  something  very  like 
disgust,  and  when  they  fell,  semi-nude,  panting, 
shapeless  heaps  upon  their  rugs,  their  retire- 
ment was  accepted  with  a  general  sigh  of  relief. 


162 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TRAGEDIES  OF  THE  HAREMS  —  SULYMAN  PASHA  —  FROM  A 
FRENCH  CLOISTER  TO  AN  EGYPTIAN  PRISON  —  CHERIF 
PASHA  AND  HIS  UNHAPPY  WIFE 

To  live  in  the  Orient,  basking  in  perpetual  sun- 
shine, breathing  the  odours  of  perennial  flowers, 
luxuriating  on  delicious  fruits,  being  waited 
upon  by  willing  slaves  who  feed  the  mind  with 
subtle  flatteries  and  the  palate  with  cloying 
sweets,  is  not  always  to  find  life  a  playground. 

The  life  in  the  harems  sometimes  discloses 
tragedies  soul-sickening  in  their  secret  horror 
and  in  the  utter  inability  of  any  power  to  avenge 
them.  An  incident  that  recurs  to  me  will  illus- 
trate what  I  mean. 

The  beginning  of  this  tragedy  dates  back  to  the 
time  of  Mehemet  Ali,  the  founder  of  the  present 
Egyptian  dynasty,  if  Egypt  can  now  be  said  to 
have  a  dynasty. 

When  this  man,  by  a  successful  rebellion,  seized 
the  reins  of  government  and  proclaimed  himself 
sovereign,  he  had  in  his  confidential  service  a 

.63 


ROSE   EYTINGE 

soldier  who  had  served  with  distinction  in  the 
French  army,  in  which  at  the  period  when  he 
left  that  service  he  held  the  rank  of  colonel. 
Originally  of  the  people,  he  had  attained  this 
position  through  the  possession  of  unusual 
qualities.  He  was  brave  in  action,  ready  in  expe- 
dients, unscrupulous  in  carrying  them  out,  and 
possessed  of  an  insatiable  cupidity. 

These  characteristics  led  to  his  committing 
some  act  which  brought  disgrace  upon  himself, 
and  sooner  than  await  the  consequences,  which 
seemed  inevitable,  he  deserted  and  sought  ser- 
vice in  Egypt,  where  he  soon  rendered  himself 
indispensable  to  Mehemet  Ali,  who,  as  soon  as 
he  found  himself  Egypt's  ruler,  loaded  the 
apostate  Frenchman, —  who  made  no  difficulty 
about  declaring  himself  a  good  Mohammedan, 
—  with  wealth  and  honours.  He  bestowed 
upon  him  the  title  of  Sulyman  Pasha,  and  gave 
him  as  his  first  wife,  or  queen  of  his  harem,  an 
Armenian  princess  of  great  wealth  and  won- 
drous beauty. 

Although  Sulyman  availed  himself  of  his  Mo- 
hammedan privileges  to  the  fullest  extent,  and 
kept  a  flourishing  domestic  establishment,  he 

.64 


A  MOHAMMEDAN  PRINCESS 

never  deposed  this  princess  from  her  first  place 
in  either  his  regard  or  her  position.  She  bore 
him  a  daughter,  and  for  this  daughter  he  ex- 
hibited the  fondest  and  deepest  paternal  love; 
and  he  revolted  from  the  thought  of  having  her 
grow  up  in  the  ignorant,  aimless,  idle  life  of  the 
harem.  While  she  was  little  more  than  a  baby 
he  sent  her  to  a  convent  in  France  to  be  edu- 
cated, and  to  grow  up  in  the  Catholic  faith. 
Her  Mohammedan  parentage  was  carefully 
concealed,  not  only  from  her  schoolmates,  but 
also  from  the  sisterhood  and  from  herself,  — 
only  the  Mother  Superior  being  cognizant  of 
the  fact.  It  was  only  known  that  she  was  of 
high  rank  and  great  wealth. 

She  had  been  several  years  in  the  convent  be- 
fore she  made  a  visit  to  her  native  place,  and 
even  then  she  was  too  young  to  realize  the  differ- 
ence in  the  mode  of  life;  and  so  she  grew  to 
womanhood  virtually  ignorant  of  the  difference 
between  herself  and  the  girls  who  were  her  com- 
panions and  friends,  but  from  whom,  in  the 
near  future,  she  was  to  be  so  completely  and 
cruelly  separated. 

When  she  was  in  the  first  years  of  her  bud- 
165 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

ding  womanhood  and  fresh  young  beauty,  she 
made  one  of  her  customary  visits  to  her  father, 
her  mother  having  been  dead  several  years;  and 
during  this  visit  her  father,  after  a  sudden  and 
brief  illness,  died. 

An  examination  of  his  affairs  took  place,  and 
the  story  of  her  great  wealth  was  confirmed; 
it  was  found  that  while  she  was  still  an  infant 
her  father  had  settled  an  immense  fortune  upon 
her,  but  he  had  made  no  provision  looking 
toward  her  release  from  the  condition  of  a 
Turkish  subject. 

The  Viceroy  was  appointed  her  guardian,  and 
she  was  surrounded  with  every  luxury  that  her 
great  wealth  entitled  her  to.  But  her  Christian 
attendants  were  all  sent  back  to  France,  her 
household  was  conducted  upon  a  strictly  Turk- 
ish basis,  and  she  herself  was  not  permitted  to 
leave  the  country.  In  a  very  short  time  the 
Viceroy  gave  her  in  marriage  to  Cherif  Pasha, 
who  was  at  least  double  her  age,  a  man  of  wealth 
and  importance  and  a  thorough  Moslem. 

She,  a  free  woman,  made  free  by  that  greatest 
of  all  enfranchisements,  a  cultivated  mind,  was 
thus  condemned  to  slavery.  As  the  wife  of  a 

1 66 


A  TRAGIC  STORY 

Turk  she  must  live  in  her  husband's  harem 
along  with  the  other  women  of  his  household, 
where  she  must  be  in  the  keeping  of  an  official 
who  by  right  of  his  office  carried  the  key  to 
those  apartments,  and  only  at  his  pleasure  and 
in  his  custody  could  she  leave  them. 

I  had  heard  the  tragic  story  of  this  woman 
some  time  before  I  made  her  acquaintance, 
though  she  might  often  have  been  present  on 
any  of  the  occasions  when  I  visited  the  royal 
harem,  and  I  not  have  been  aware  of  her  pres- 
ence, as  our  Western  custom  of  introduction  and 
general  intercourse  did  not  prevail  there. 

But  on  one  of  these  visits  I  met  a  woman  who 
knew  Madame  Cherif  by  sight,  and  at  my  re- 
quest she  pointed  her  out  to  me.  As  she  sat 
gorgeously  dressed  and  ablaze  with  gems  she 
was  a  most  pathetic  figure.  Though  she  had 
passed  her  first  youth  she  was  still  a  striking  and 
noble  figure  and  bore  traces  of  great  beauty. 
Her  great,  dark  eyes  were  surrounded  by  circles 
almost  as  dark  as  themselves,  and  she  had  an 
eager,  starved  glance.  Her  mouth  was  closely 
drawn  in,  and  her  lips  were  pressed  together 
as  though  she  habitually  kept  back  the  words 

167 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

that  were  striving  for  utterance.  I  was  most 
painfully  impressed  by  her  hands,  they  were  so 
pitifully  eloquent.  Such  tiny  hands  they  were, 
and,  as  they  lay  so  white  and  helpless-looking 
on  her  gorgeous  robe,  they  had  a  trick  of  flutter- 
ing, it  seemed  to  me,  like  some  lost  bird  whose 
wings  had  been  sorely  wounded. 

There  were  tears  in  the  quivering  of  those 
small  fingers;  they,  and  her  eyes,  and  her  mouth 
revealed  a  tragedy.  I  there  and  then  made  up 
my  mind  that  if  a  woman  who  was  herself 
happy  in  the  privilege  of  having  been  born  in 
a  free  land  could  brighten,  if  even  in  ever  so 
slight  a  way,  the  dark  fate  of  that  unhappy 
woman,  it  should  be  done. 

As  soon  as  I  could  do  so  without  attracting 
attention,  I  asked  to  be  presented  to  Madame 
Cherif .  After  a  few  ceremonious  words  of  greet- 
ing on  either  side,  I  said  to  her  in  my  most  dis- 
tant manner,  but  with  a  slight  shade  of  meaning 
in  my  voice,  that  it  would  give  me  great  pleas- 
ure to  call  upon  her.  With  a  startled  glance, 
first  at  me  and  then  about  her,  she  replied  with 
one  word,  "Impossible!" 

But  I  was  determined  that  I  would  not  be  so 

168 


AN  UNHAPPY  WIFE 

easily  discouraged.  I  asked,  "Is  that  your 
wish?"  In  reply,  with  another  startled  glance, 
she  said,  "It  is  my  fear."  To  this  I  replied, 
"Leave  it  to  me,"  and  I  moved  away. 

I  knew  that  in  trying  to  offer  any  hope  to  this 
poor  creature  I  was  setting  for  myself  no  easy 
task,  but  I  rested  my  hopes  on  the  fact  that  I 
knew  Cherif  Pasha  quite  well.  By  this  time  I 
had  learned  that  the  men  of  the  Orient  greatly 
enjoyed  meeting  the  women  of  the  Western 
world,  but,  while  they  enjoyed  their  intelligent 
talk  and  observed  with  a  sort  of  puzzled  ad- 
miration the  perfect  ease  and  freedom  with 
which  such  women  expressed  their  views,  they 
were  all  very  careful  that  none  of  that  intelli- 
gence or  freedom  of  opinion  should  find  its  way 
to  the  women  of  their  own  country  or  faith. 

A  little  careful  inquiry  helped  me  to  learn  that 
the  Cherif  s  harem  was  just  then  at  his  palace 
a  little  way  out  of  Cairo,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mahmoudieh  Canal,  and  I  knew  that  the  gar- 
dens of  this  palace  were  famous  for  the  beauty 
and  rarity  of  their  flowers. 

I  developed  a  great  interest  in  horticulture, 
and  managed  to  have  it  given  out  that  I  en- 

169 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

joyed  nothing  so  much  as  a  stroll  among  the 
flowers. 

A  great  man  once  told  me  that  opportunities 
never  occur, —  they  are  made.  And  it  was  not 
long  before  I  made  an  opportunity  to  mention 
to  Cherif  Pasha  my  love  for  flowers,  and  that  I 
had  heard  of  the  great  beauty  of  his  garden. 
What  so  natural  as  that  he  should  beg  me  to 
visit  them,  and  that  I  should  accept  his  invita- 
tion? 

But  I  reminded  his  Excellency  that  the  cus- 
toms of  my  country  made  it  incumbent  that 
Madame  Cherif  Pasha  should  receive  me,  and 
after  a  little  half-bantering,  half-serious  discus- 
sion the  Pasha  smilingly  yielded  to  what  he 
considered  was  an  absurd  exhibition  of  quite 
unnecessary  etiquette. 

An  early  day  was  named  for  the  visit.  I  con- 
fess I  looked  forward  to  it  with  no  small  degree 
of  nervousness.  I  had  in  my  mind  nothing 
definite,  only  a  great  wish  to  try  to  cheer  this 
woman  who,  with  the  rank  of  a  noble,  the  wealth 
of  a  millionaire,  and  the  luxury  of  a  sybarite, 
was  poorer,  more  pitiable  than  the  most  miser- 
able beggar  that  wanders  through  the  streets 

170 


VISIT  TO  MADAME  CHERIF 

of  any  Christian  town, —  for  that  beggar  has 
freedom. 

It  is  needless  to  describe  the  details  of  my  visit 
except  so  far  as  it  relates  to  Madame  Cherif. 
She,  with  three  or  four  other  wives  of  the  Pasha 
and  a  train  of  women  attendants,  met  us  on  our 
arrival.  Standing  on  either  side  of  the  entrance 
to  the  harem  were  two  tall  eunuchs.  They 
looked  like  great  carved,  ebony  figures,  they 
were  so  densely  black  and  they  stood  so  motion- 
less. 

With  a  fine  assumption  of  breezy  familiarity  I 
at  once  claimed  Madame  Cherif  as  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, and  while  she  seemed  for  a  moment 
dazed  and  startled  I  drew  her  arm  through 
mine,  and,  glibly  chattering,  I  led  her  away 
from  the  rest. 

Once  out  of  earshot  of  the  others,  I  told  her 
rapidly  that  if  —  as  I  suspected  —  she  was  un- 
happy and  needed  a  friend,  I  begged  her  to 
allow  me  to  be  that  friend.  I  did  not  know  if 
she  needed  or  would  accept  my  services,  but 
here  I  was,  and  I  begged  her  to  command  me. 
But  I  reminded  her  that  moments  were  precious 
and  she  must  be  frank  and  prompt. 

171 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

The  poor  woman  looked  closely  and  wonder- 
ingly  at  me,  and  then  said  in  an  awe-struck 
whisper:  "Yes!  Yes!  There  is  a  God!  It  is 
true,  what  the  good  nuns  taught  me!  Christ 
lives,  and  he  has  sent  this  angel  to  comfort 
me!"  And  she  would  have  thrown  herself  at 
my  feet  if  I  had  not  promptly  and  impera- 
tively prevented  so  absurd  an  act. 

Self-control  and  a  calm  demeanour  were  most 
necessary,  for  the  voices  of  others  of  the  party 
could  be  heard.  So,  giving  her  a  good,  old- 
fashioned  hand-shake,  I  drew  her  on  and  fell 
to  chattering  like  a  magpie,  and  as  soon  as  we 
were  at  a  safe  distance  I  again  begged  her  to 
tell  me  quietly  if  I  could  do  anything  to  serve 
her.  She  said  with  quiet  hopelessness,  there 
was  nothing.  Then  she  added,  "If  sometimes 
I  could  see  you,  if  you  could  tell  me  of  your 
country,  your  home,  where  women  are  free, 
where  they  are  permitted  to  read,  to  think!" 

Before  I  had  time  to  reply  we  were  joined  by 
others  of  the  party,  and  during  the  rest  of  the 
visit  I  had  no  opportunity  to  speak  confiden- 
tially to  her;  but  I  wanted  very  much  to  give 
her  some  little  comforting  message,  so  I  begged 

172 


A  MESSAGE  OF  HOPE 

to  be  told  the  names  of  some  rare  plants,  and 
then  required  paper  and  pencil  with  which  to 
make  a  note  of  them.  In  taking  these  names 
I  made  many  blunders;  in  short,  I  managed  to 
write  her  a  line  telling  her  we  would  certainly 
meet  again,  and  I  hoped  to  be  able  so  to  manage 
it  that  she  should  return  my  visit.  I  might  as 
well  say  here  that  at  the  time  I  told  her  this  I 
had  no  more  hope  of  being  able  to  accomplish 
such  a  feat  than  I  had  of  overturning  the  Turk- 
ish Empire. 

I  contrived  to  let  her  see  the  slip  of  paper  on 
which  I  had  scrawled  my  little  message  of  hope, 
and  shortly  afterward  she  received  it  from  under 
a  dish  of  sweets.  She  withdrew  for  a  moment 
to  the  side  of  a  fountain  that  adorned  the  court, 
and  on  rejoining  us  I  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  her  eat  some  little  paper  pellets  together 
with  some  conserve  of  violets. 

A  few  days  after  this  visit  to  the  gardens  I  sent 
to  Madame  Cherif  a  ceremonious  invitation  to 
her  to  return  my  visit.  As  I  expected,  my  in- 
vitation was  as  ceremoniously  declined.  I  at 
once  requested  Cherif  Pasha  to  call  upon  me, 
and  to  him  I  expressed  my  grievance  against 

'73 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

Madame  Cherif,  explaining  to  him  that  I,  hav- 
ing called  upon  Madame,  was  placed  in  a  very 
awkward  position  by  her  declining  to  return  my 
call.  That  in  my  country, —  etc.,  etc. 

The  Pasha  was  at  great  pains  to  explain  to  me 
the  habits  of  Oriental  women,  but  I  persistently 
declined  to  be  either  enlightened  or  pacified. 
I  stood  upon  my  claim  that  I  had  visited 
Madame  Cherif,  and  that  it  was  incumbent 
upon  her  to  return  that  visit. 

After  a  long  and  vigorous  talk,  during  which  I 
confess  I  exhibited  almost  every  quality  at  a 
woman's  command  except  humility  and  cour- 
tesy the  Pasha  capitulated.  It  was  settled  that 
Madame  Cherif  should  visit  me.  It  was  also 
agreed  that  on  the  day  appointed  for  her  visit 
all  the  men  of  my  household  should  absent 
themselves,  that  my  house  should  be  guarded 
by  the  chief  eunuch  of  Cherif  s  harem,  and  that 
nobody  should  be  present  —  no  guests  —  only 
the  women  of  my  household. 

The  talk  between  Madame  Cherif  and  myself 
was  pleasant  in  that  it  was  free  and  uncon- 
strained, yet  it  was  very  sad.  The  unhappy 
lady  fully  realised  the  hopelessness  of  her  posi- 

'74 


A  HELPLESS  SORROW 

tion.  Indeed,  she  saw  it  much  more  clearly 
than  I  either  could  or  would.  There  was  in- 
finite pathos  in  the  quiet  despair  with  which 
she  pointed  out  to  me  the  impossibility  of  any 
change  in  her  life. 

She  was  a  Turkish  subject.  The  whole  ques- 
tion was  summed  up  in  that  statement;  and 
this  woman,  whom  I  had  hoped  to  help  and 
comfort,  was  forced  to  try  to  console  me  in  my 
helpless  sorrow  for  her.  She  said  there  was 
one  thing  I  could  do  for  her,  I  could  give  her 
a  few  books.  I  searched  the  bookshelves  and 
selected  for  her  Michelet's  "Woman,"  Sou- 
vestrie's  "Pleasures  of  Old  Age,"  and  Balzac's 
"Eugenie  Grandet."  Then  we  set  to  work  to 
tear  them  from  their  bindings  and  remove  every 
unnecessary  leaf,  so  that  she  might  the  more 
easily  conceal  them  about  her  person. 

This  over,  amid  hopes  that  the  future  might 
give  us  the  opportunity  to  meet  often,  we  parted. 
I  never  saw  Madame  Cherif  again. 

Very  soon  I  learned  that  the  harem  of  Cherif 
Pasha  had  been  sent  to  one  of  his  palaces  in  the 
interior.  When,  on  meeting  Cherif,  I  inquired 
for  Madame  Cherif,  I  was  told  with  the  most 

175 


ROSE   EYTINGE 

ceremonious  courtesy  that  she  was  quite  well, 
and  would  shortly  return  to  Cairo,  if  but  for 
the  happiness  of  again  seeing  me. 

But  she  never  came.  I  have  often  wondered 
if  the  few  printed  leaves  that  had  been  meant 
to  lighten  the  darkness  of  her  sad  life  had  been 
discovered,  and  been  made  the  means  of  draw- 
ing still  closer  the  chains  of  her  slavery. 


176 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

VERDI'S  "AIDA"  IN  THE  CAIRO  OPERA-HOUSE  —  A  BLAZE 
OF  JEWELS  —  A  COSMOPOLITAN  AUDIENCE 

WHILE  in  Cairo  I  witnessed  the  first  perform- 
ance of  Verdi's  opera, "Aida,"  the  occasion  being 
the  opening  of  the  first  opera-house  that  city 
had  ever  possessed. 

Ismail  Pasha,  then  Viceroy  of  Egypt,  while  a 
good  Mussulman,  was  a  great  admirer  and 
imitator  of  all  things  European,  especially  of 
English  and  French  fashions.  So,  one  day,  as 
I  have  mentioned  in  an  earlier  chapter,  he 
determined  that  he  would  have  an  opera-house. 
But  he  found,  to  his  vexation,  that  it  was  much 
easier  to  form  this  determination  than  to  carry 
it  out. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  obtain  plans  and  esti- 
mates,—  all  these  the  European  schools  offered 
in  abundance;  but  the  two  almost  insuperable 
difficulties  which  he  encountered  were,  first  to 
raise  the  money  with  which  to  build;  second, 
to  obtain  from  among  the  fellaheen,  labourers 

i77 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

who  could  be  entrusted  with  the  work.  After 
months  of  delay  the  land  was  obtained  and 
ground  broken ;  and  after  more  and  more  delay 
the  building  was  begun. 

There  would  be  pauses  in  the  proceedings, 
sometimes  running  into  months.  At  last  the 
project  was  sufficiently  advanced  to  justify  the 
hope  that  some  time  in  the  far  future  the  opera- 
house  might  be  an  established  fact,  and  next 
Ismail  bethought  him  that  it  would  be  a  fine  and 
appropriate  thing  to  dedicate  the  house  by  the 
performance  in  it  for  the  first  time  of  an  opera 
of  Oriental  plot.  Verdi  was  the  composer  se- 
lected, and  "Aida"  was  the  opera  settled  upon. 

Verdi  came  from  Paris  and  was  royally  lodged 
in  one  of  the  viceregal  palaces  during  the  time 
occupied  by  rehearsals,  and  at  the  initial  per- 
formance he  conducted  in  person.  The  stage 
presented  a  positive  blaze  of  light  which  was 
reflected  from  the  jewels  worn  by  the  artists 
and  chorus. 

At  the  time  of  this  performance  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War  was  raging,  and  the  stage  jewels 
and  ornaments  which  had  been  ordered  from 
Parisian  manufacturers  could  not  be  obtained, 

178 


A  BLAZE  OF  JEWELS 

for  the  reason  that  the  Frenchmen  were  too  busy 
fighting  their  German  neighbours  to  give  any 
attention  to  business.  So  in  this  dilemma,  and 
in  order  that  nothing  might  be  lacking  to  mark 
the  occasion  with  appropriate  splendour,  the 
Viceroy  emptied  the  treasure-chests  of  his 
harems  and  distributed  their  contents  among 
the  persons  engaged  in  the  performance. 

On  that  memorable  occasion  there  was  dis- 
played on  the  stage  more  than  three  million 
pounds'  worth  of  gems.  In  order  to  protect  this 
vast  amount  of  wealth  there  were  placed  among 
the  chorus  and  "extra"  persons  a  great  number 
of  detectives,  and  it  was  said  at  the  time,  with 
great  pride,  that  not  a  stone  of  the  collection 
was  lost.  Whether  this  was  a  tribute  to  the 
honesty  of  the  crowd  or  to  the  watchfulness  of 
the  detectives  did  not  appear,  but  the  blaze  of 
light  and  splendour  upon  the  stage  was  fully 
reflected  back  from  the  audience. 

Of  course  nothing  could  be  seen  of  the  occu- 
pants of  the  viceregal  boxes,  except  an  occa- 
sional flash  of  light  darting  through  the  jalousies, 
—  whether  reflected  from  a  gem,  or  from  a  pair 
of  glorious  dark  eyes,  who  shall  say?  But  the 

179 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

audience  was  magnificent  in  numbers  and 
dazzling  in  appearance.  The  house  was  packed 
from  floor  to  ceiling.  All  the  consuls  were  in 
full  dress,  many  of  them  in  regalia;  and  there 
was  a  large  sprinkling  of  English,  French,  and 
people  of  other  nationalities  in  uniform,  many 
Greek  and  Albanian  notables  in  their  pictur- 
esque costumes,  and  of  course  a  large  propor- 
tion of  Mussulmans,  whose  scarlet  tarbooshes 
made  patches  of  brilliant  colour  throughout  the 
house. 

But  the  women !  What  words  can  do  justice 
to  the  wondrous  beauty  of  their  appearance! 
The  soft  Cairene  climate  made  possible  cos- 
tumes of  the  most  diaphanous  materials,  and 
these  costumes  were  literally  encrusted  with 
gems.  The  heads  of  these  ladies  gleamed  with 
gorgeous  tiaras,  their  breasts  blazed  with  collars, 
necklaces,  and  revers  of  gems,  and  the  air  was 
heavy  with  the  odours  of  the  flowers  with  which 
they  were  adorned. 

When  Verdi  took  his  place  in  the  orchestra  and 
waved  his  baton,  he  seemed  extremely  nervous, 
but  as  he  warmed  to  his  work  his  nervousness 
seemed  gradually  to  melt  from  him,  and  by  the 

180 


A  GREETING  TO  VERDI 

end  of  the  first  act  he  had  himself  perfectly  in 
hand.  The  end  of  the  second  act  was  the  signal 
for  such  an  ovation  as  would  have  turned  the 
head  of  many  a  master,  but  Verdi,  while  his 
face  beamed,  and  the  whole  man  seemed  to 
vibrate  with  the  pleasure  that  such  a  greeting 
gave  him,  was  throughout  quite  self-possessed 
and  comparatively  calm. 

It  was  a  notable  event,  as  introducing  mod- 
ern art  in  the  capital  of  ancient  mysticism,  and 
it  deserved  all  the  recognition  it  received.  And 
too  great  praise  cannot  be  accorded  to  Ismail 
Pasha,  a  Mohammedan  monarch,  for  the  public 
spirit  and  appreciation  of  art  he  exhibited  in 
producing  such  a  result. 


181 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

EGYPTIAN  ANTIQUITIES  —  A  REMARKABLE  COINCIDENCE 
—  A  GREEK  DOG — A  PRESENT  OF  MUTTON  "ON  THE 
HOOF"  —  A  BERBER  PRINCE  —  THE  RESTORATION  OF 
A  LONG-LOST  CHILD 

DURING  my  residence  in  Egypt  I  was  the  recip- 
ient of  many  gifts,  some  of  intrinsic  value,  but 
many  of  them  valuable  only  because  of  their 
curious  and  unique  character.  One  was  a 
drinking-cup  and  saucer  cut  from  the  horn  of 
a  young  buffalo  when  the  moon  was  in  the  third 
quarter.  The  legend  of  this  cup  was,  that  if 
a  new-born  babe  received  its  first  drink  from  it 
the  child  would  be  blessed  with  good  fortune 
during  its  life. 

Another  gift  was  a  figure  of  a  sacred  bull,  in 
green  bronze.  This  had  been  discovered  in 
the  tomb  of  one  of  the  Pharaohs,  where  it  had 
lain  for  more  than  five  thousand  years.  This 
ancient  treasure  I  gave  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Chan- 
ning,  the  American  clergyman,  an  enthusiastic 
and  learned  Egyptologist,  and  for  many  years 

182 


EGYPTIAN  ANTIQUITIES 

a  resident  of  London,  in  which  city  we  met. 
Our  talk  naturally  turned  upon  Egypt,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  distinguished  doctor's  conver- 
sation —  a  great  part  of  which,  I  must  confess, 
was  indeed  "dark  as  Egypt"  to  me  —  he  told 
me  how  he  had  for  years  been  seeking  the 
bronze  image  of  a  certain  sacred  bull,  which 
image  was  needed  to  complete  and  verify  cer- 
tain data  over  which  he  had  spent  years  of  toil 
and  research.  I  told  him  of  my  possession,  to 
which,  I  acknowledged,  I  had,  up  to  this  time, 
attached  no  great  importance  except  to  regard 
it  as  a  unique  paper-weight. 

I  also  told  him  that  when  the  figure  was  given 
to  me  it  had  been  rolled  in  a  strip  of  papyrus, 
the  whole  being  enclosed  in  a  piece  of  the 
peculiar  yellowish,  greyish  linen  in  which  all 
mummies  and  their  belongings  are  preserved. 
The  doctor's  excitement  during  my  recital  of 
these  details  almost  passed  those  bounds  of 
conventionality  so  carefully  preserved  in  polite 
society  everywhere,  but  especially  in  English 
circles.  When  I  told  him  that  it  would  give 
me  pleasure  to  place  the  whole  relic  at  his  dis- 
posal, he  almost  "went  to  pieces." 

183 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

It  was  settled  that  I  should  send  the  precious 
"loot"  to  him  the  following  day,  he  to  send  a 
trusty  messenger  for  it,  and  by  eight  o'clock  the 
next  morning  the  messenger  arrived.  I  was 
greatly  pleased  to  learn,  shortly  afterward,  that 
Dr.  Channing's  highest  hopes  were  more  than 
realised.  The  papyrus  gave  him  the  fullest 
details,  and  aided  him  in  establishing  beyond 
a  peradventure  the  link  of  evidence  for  which 
he  had  sought  so  long  and  fruitlessly. 

Another  curious  gift  which  was  brought  to  me 
was  of  quite  a  different  sort.  It  was  a  Greek 
dog. 

It  was  not  a  pretty  dog,  Greek  though  it  was, 
and  its  habits  quite  put  to  rout  all  one's  ideas 
of  the  beauty  and  artistic  qualities  of  the 
Greeks.  Dogs  'are  not  popular  in  Egypt.  The 
wild,  semi- wolfish  creatures  —  very  like  coyotes 
—  that  infest  the  country  destroy  one's  sen- 
timent about  "old  dog  Tray,"  for  the  Egyptian 
dog  is  neither  gentle  nor  kind,  and  he  has  a 
trick  of  attacking  you  from  behind.  The 
dog's  stay  among  us  was  limited  to  that  of  his 
donor. 

.84 


A  PRESENT  OF  MUTTON 

But  of  all  the  extraordinary  gifts  to  make  to  a 
rather  quietly  disposed  woman,  commend  me 
to  a  sheep! 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  some  Mohammedan 
holiday.  I  was  awakened  by  the  confused 
sounds  of  many  feet  upon  the  veranda,  and  the 
sound  of  many  voices  all  raised  at  once, —  some 
in  praise,  some  in  expostulation,  others  in  stern 
tones  of  command,  the  whole  being  supple- 
mented at  intervals  by  a  loud  and  plaintive 
"Ba-a-a!" 

After  a  long  and  somewhat  anxious  suspense, 
the  trampling  feet  and  many  voices  entered  the 
house  and  made  for  my  bedroom.  After 
due  knocking  the  procession  entered,  headed 
by  my  major-domo,  who  was  a  most  stately 
personage,  and,  having  a  smattering  of  every 
language  in  the  universe,  spoke  none. 

Nicolo  was  closely  followed  by  Marie,  a  Mal- 
tese maiden,  who,  I  must  confess,  usually  followed 
Nicolo  pretty  closely,  and  bringing  up  the  rear 
was  every  man  employed  about  the  place,  from 
the  cook  to  the  water-carrier. 

Trotting  in  their  midst,  looking  wretched  and 
terrified  at  his  unaccustomed  surroundings,  was 

185 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

an  enormous  ram.  He  had  evidently  been  sub- 
mitted to  an  elaborate  toilet  for  the  occasion, 
for  his  fleece  was  snowy  white,  and  his  great, 
curled  horns,  and  his  feathered  tail,  which 
swept  the  ground,  were  ornamented  with  blue 
ribbons. 

Marie,  also  ornamented,  like  the  sheep,  with 
blue  ribbons,  and  tricked  out  also  with  "nods 
and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles,"  stepped  for- 
ward, having  evidently  been  selected  for  the  hon- 
ourable position  of  spokeswoman.  In  a  speech 
which  I  understood  much  better  by  watching 
her  pantomime  than  by  listening  to  her  lame, 
polyglot  jargon,  she  begged  me  to  accept  this 
small  "ship," —  by  which  I  made  out  that  she 
meant  this  enormous  ram, —  as  a  proof  of  re- 
gard, love,  reverence,  etc. 

Of  course  I  accepted.  What  else  could  I  do ? 
I  was  there  in  my  bed.  There  was  my  entire 
establishment,  and  there  was  "de  leetle  ship." 
So  I  patted  my  gift  on  the  head,  and  let  him 
place  his  moist  nose  in  my  palm,  and  duly  ad- 
mired him,  and  at  last,  to  my  very  great  relief, 
saw  him  led  away. 

Where?    I  never  dared  to  inquire.    I  only 

1 86 


A  BERBER  PRINCE 

know  that  my  table,  and  the  tables  of  several 
of  my  neighbours,  were  all  bountifully  supplied 
with  mutton  for  some  time.  I  never  could  bring 
myself  quite  to  enjoy  that  mutton;  I  could  not 
forget  the  trusting  way  in  which  that  "leetle 
ship"  visited  me,  and  had  allowed  me  to  pat 
his  curly  head,  and  it  didn't  seem  quite  a  nice 

way  to  treat  him,  to 

But  let  us  have  in  the  next  course. 

The  very  finest  gift  I  ever  received  was  a 
prince, —  a  real,  for-true,  flesh-and-blood  prince. 

It  happened  this  way.  A  party  made  up  of 
persons  whom  I  knew  went  in  their  dahdbeah 
up  the  Nile  as  far  as  the  Second  Cataract,  and 
while  in  that  Upper  Egypt  country  they  met  a 
party  of  marauders  who  were  bringing  slaves 
from  the  Berber  country  down  to  the  slave- 
markets. 

They  noticed  among  the  slaves  a  boy  about  ten 
years  of  age,  and  of  singular  and  striking  beau- 
ty. He  repelled  all  their  attempts  to  make  ac- 
quaintance, held  himself  proudly  aloof,  and 
preserved  a  stern  silence  and  stoical  manner 
fitted  more  to  a  man  than  to  the  child  he  was. 

187 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

His  captors  treated  him  with  a  rough,  dumb 
sort  of  consideration,  and,  while  his  fellow-slaves 
were  most  cruelly  and  villainously  treated,  he 
was  passed  over  and  artfully  overlooked. 

Through  their  interpreter  my  friends  learned 
that  this  child  was  indeed  a  prince, —  his  father 
was  king  of  a  powerful  and  warlike  tribe.  The 
child  had  been  captured  in  a  night  attack,  and 
his  captors  regretted  the  fact  and  greatly  feared 
the  vengeance  which  his  father  would  most 
surely  take.  So  when  these  travellers  offered 
to  buy  him  their  offer  was  accepted. 

But  when  the  bargain  was  concluded,  and  the 
boy  was  transferred  to  their  dahabeah,  they  did 
not  in  the  least  know  what  to  do  with  him.  He 
spoke  a  Berber  dialect,  and  there  was  not  a  man 
on  board  who  could  understand  him.  He  re- 
fused alike  to  join  the  crew  "forward"  or  to 
associate  with  the  servants;  he  would  sit  apart, 
watching  the  white  people  with  an  expression 
of  amazed  curiosity;  and  from  a  sort  of  cavalier 
respect  in  his  manner  toward  them  he  seemed 
to  acknowledge  their  superiority.  When  my 
friends  came  to  Alexandria  they  sent  this  child 
out  to  me.  On  obtaining  possession  of  him  I 

188 


AN  EBONY  BEAUTY 

at  once  carried  out  Mr.  Dick's  advice  as  to 
David  Copperfield, —  I  had  him  bathed. 

When  he  next  appeared  before  me,  his  beau- 
tiful bronze  skin  shining,  his  exquisitely  formed 
feet  slipped  into  scarlet  pointed  slippers,  dressed 
in  a  white  shirt,  and  with  a  scarlet  sash  about 
his  waist,  and  a  tarboosh  on  his  head,  I  thought 
him  one  of  the  most  beautiful  objects  I  had  ever 
seen.  And  as  I  look  back  now,  and  conjure 
him  before  me  as  he  looked  then,  I  still  think  so. 
The  poor  child's  solitude,  the  wrongs  inflicted 
upon  him,  appealed  most  strongly  to  me.  I 
opened  my  arms.  Never  shall  I  forget  the 
flash  that  seemed  to  envelop  him;  for  the  first 
and  last  time  I  saw  his  eyes  suffuse  with  tears. 
With  a  swift  action  he  sprang  toward  me,  and 
for  an  instant  only  he  rested  in  my  arms.  Then 
he  slid  down  to  my  feet,  kissed  the  hem  of  my 
gown,  and  —  never  taking  his  eyes  from  my 
face  —  settled  himself  into  an  easy  attitude  and 
uttered  a  brief  grunt  of  content.  From  that 
moment  his  position  in  the  establishment  was 
settled.  He  belonged  to  me. 

For  me  he  would  perform  any  office ;  he  would 
fetch  and  carry;  and,  by  an  arrangement  en- 

189 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

tirely  his  own,  he  would  stand  behind  my  chair 
at  table,  and  take  from  any  hand  that  proffered 
me  anything,  and  himself  hand  it  to  me. 

I  soon,  however,  discovered  a  difficulty, —  in- 
deed, there  were  a  good  many  domestic  diffi- 
culties consequent  upon  this  child's  presence 
in  the  household.  The  particular  difficulty 
which  presented  itself  was  his  getting  anything 
to  eat.  He  absolutely  refused  to  eat  with  or  in 
any  way  to  associate  with  the  servants,  so  I  got 
into  the  habit  of  duplicating  what  I  myself  ate, 
and,  placing  it  upon  a  dish,  would  give  this  to 
my  young  henchman.  He  would  retire  and 
put  it  in  a  place  of  safety,  and  when  he  thought 
himself  quite  unobserved  he  would  eat. 

We  tried  him  with  every  Arabic  name  we  had 
ever  heard  or  heard  of,  and  when  we  said  "Hal- 
eel"  he  expressed  the  greatest  delight,  so  that 
matter  was  settled  and  his  name  discovered. 

He  had  a  quick  intelligence,  and,  unlike  most 
of  his  race,  he  had  a  ready  sense  of  humour. 
He  soon  mastered  the  Arabic  that  he  heard 
spoken  by  those  about  him. 

My  interest  in  the  boy  increased  daily,  and 
I  determined  that  I  would  seize  upon  any  op- 

190 


A  PRINCE'S  GRATITUDE 

portunity  that  might  offer  to  restore  him  to  his 
family  and  his  rank. 

With  my  and  his  fragments  of  Arabic  I  soon 
managed  to  talk  quite  freely  with  him,  and 
I  imparted  my  determination  to  him.  His  de- 
light was  too  deep  for  words;  he  looked  at  me 
with  unutterable  gratitude,  flung  himself  at 
my  feet,  kissed  my  gown,  and  disappeared. 
When  he  presented  himself  several  hours  later, 
he  had  evidently  been  crying,  poor  child ! 

Needless  to  say,  I  soon  ceased  to  refer  to  this 
resolve  of  mine.  Everybody  regarded  it  as  a 
most  quixotic  notion,  entirely  impossible  of  exe- 
cution. So  Haleel  and  I  kept  our  own  counsel. 

When  strangers  visited  me,  Haleel,  who  was 
rarely  absent  from  my  side,  would  scan  them, 
look  questioningly  at  them,  and  then  at  me, 
and  when  he  learned  that  there  was  nothing 
in  their  visit  likely  to  help  our  project,  he  would 
sigh — a  low  inward,  rather  than  outward  sigh 
— and  disappear.  When  he  reappeared  he 
would  always  come  in  smiling  and  apparently 
happy,  usually  with  some  gift  for  me, —  a 
captured  bird,  a  basket  of  figs,  or  a  branch  of 
oranges. 

191 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

But  one  day,  oh,  day  of  days  for  my  young 
prince!  there  came  a  man  from  Upper  Egypt, 
a  consular  agent  who  had  got  himself  into 
trouble  and  who  needed  some  help  and  pro- 
tection that  it  happened  to  be  in  my  power  to 
bestow. 

I  found  that  he  talked  the  Berber  dialect. 
Haleel  spoke  to  him;  they  understood  each 
other. 

Then  there  occurred  one  of  the  most  dra- 
matic scenes  I  ever  witnessed. 

At  first  the  man,  a  large,  forbidding-looking 
creature,  questioned  Haleel.  Haleel  replied 
briefly.  As  this  examination  proceeded,  the 
huge  man  seemed  to  lose  importance,  and  the 
child  to  gain  it;  and  when,  in  reply  to  some 
crowning  question,  Haleel  replied,  briefly  still, 
but  in  ringing  tones,  evidently  making  some 
startling  statement,  the  man,  with  a  great  cry, 
flung  himself  on  the  floor  before  the  child  and 
literally  grovelled  at  his  feet,  while  Haleel  stood 
erect  with  blazing  eyes  transfigured  with  maj- 
esty. 

Details  were  soon  arranged.  You  may  be 
sure  my  consular  agent  was  not  pressed  too 

192 


A  LOST  CHILD  RESTORED 

hard,  the  charges  against  him  were  pigeon- 
holed, and  with  all  possible  speed  his  face  was 
turned  homeward. 

And  Haleel,  my  young  prince,  my  slave,  my 
comrade,  my  protege,  was  to  accompany  him, 
under  the  most  solemn  pledge  that  he  would 
be  returned  to  his  father.  The  doubting 
Thomases  on  all  hands,  especially  those  who 
had  always  considered  my  project  of  sending 
the  child  back  to  his  home  as  a  huge  joke, 
smiled  and  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  ex- 
pressed more  incredulity  than  ever. 

But  Haleel  believed  in  the  consular  agent, 
and  I  believed  in  Haleel.  The  child,  in  the 
jargon  that  he  and  I  had  patched  up  between 
us,  made  me  understand  that  the  Berber  with 
whom  he  was  going  would  be  only  too  pleased 
and  proud  to  return  him  to  his  father,  for  his 
father  was  a  powerful  king  and  would  not  only 
shower  gifts  upon  his  child's  restorer,  but 
would  protect  the  man's  tribe. 

I  gave  Haleel  a  tiny  locket  and  told  him 
to  conceal  it,  which  he  promptly  proceeded 
to  do  by  weaving  it  into  the  tassel  of  his  tar- 
boosh. When  he  was  with  his  father,  and  not 

'93 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

before,  he  was  to  give  it  to  the  Berber,  with 
instructions  to  pass  it  down  from  hand  to  hand 
by  any  traveller,  or  sheik,  or  soldier  who  was 
coming  to  Lower  Egypt  until  it  reached  me, 
when  I  would  reward  the  messenger. 

And  so  Haleel  went. 

Ah!  how  many  times  he  turned  around  when 
he  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  raced  back 
to  the  terrace  where  I  stood  watching  him,  and 
flung  himself  first  into  my  arms  and  then  at 
my  feet,  uttering  mingled  words  of  sorrow  and 
joy,  of  love,  of  gratitude. 

Some  eighteen  months  afterward  an  Arab 
sheik  demanded  an  audience,  and  he  told  the 
janissary  that  he  brought  me  a  message  from 
Prince  Haleel. 

First  there  was  a  little  hamper  of  straw,  then 
another  lesser  hamper  of  some  sweet  grass, 
and  so  on  until  at  last,  enclosed  in  a  tiny  silver 
box  of  cunning  workmanship,  there  lay  my 
locket. 


194 


CHAPTER     XXV 

SIR  HENRY  BULWER — AMERICAN  OFFICERS  IN  THE  KHE- 
DIVE'S  SERVICE  —  STONE  PASHA  —  COLONEL  THOMAS 
W.  RHETT — GENERAL  SHERMAN —  PATRIOTISM  MOL- 
LIFIED BY  OLD  ASSOCIATIONS  —  A  MEETING  OF  ONE- 
TIME ENEMIES 

WHILE  in  Egypt  I  met  a  number  of  notable 
persons.  At  this  moment  I  remember  a  gentle- 
man who,  in  that  community  at  least,  was 
better  known  for  his  eccentricities  than  for  his 
ability  as  a  diplomat.  This  was  Sir  Henry 
Bulwer,  brother  of  Lord  Lytton. 

Sir  Henry  was  a  sort  of  resident  Plenipo- 
tentiary Minister  Extraordinary  for  the  British 
Government.  To  describe  his  position  in  a 
more  homely  but  clearer  way,  he  was  appointed 
to  Egypt  as  a  sort  of  diplomatic  "Sister  Anne"; 
and  his  real  duty  consisted  in  keeping  a  sharp 
look-out  that  no  movement,  however  insig- 
nificant it  might  seem  to  be,  that  could,  how- 
ever remotely,  have  an  adverse  influence  upon 
English  interests  in  Egypt,  could  take  place 
without  his  immediate  knowledge,  and  a  corre- 

'95 


ROSE   EYTINGE 

spondingly   immediate   communication   to  the 
home  powers. 

Sir  Henry  was  an  invalid,  a  valetudinarian, 
a  hypochondriac,  and  anything  else  that  one 
could  think  of  that  is  sour,  discontented,  and 
disagreeable.  He  lived  the  life  of  a  recluse, 
his  poor  health  making  this  a  necessity;  and 
when,  on  the  rare  occasions  he  invited  one  or 
more  guests  to  dine  with  him,  it  was  considered 
more  a  penance  than  a  pleasure;  for  his  place 
at  table  was  always  banked  in  with  medicine- 
bottles  and  pill-boxes,  and  it  was  his  habit  to 
dose  himself  with  these  various  drugs  between 
the  courses.  His  only  really  close  friend  was 
a  monkey,  a  hideous  little  beast,  as  bad-tem- 
pered and  ill-conditioned  as  his  master,  but 
with  a  much  better  digestion. 

The  American  colony  in  Egypt  of  course 
interested  me,  and  this  colony  was  largely 
augmented  during  my  stay  there  through  the 
instrumentality  of  Ismail  Pasha  himself. 

It  had  long  been  the  secret  wish  of  Ismail 
to  feel  himself  able  to  make  a  bold  stand,  throw 
off  the  yoke  of  the  Sultan,  and  declare  himself 

,96 


GENERAL  MOTT'S  IDEA 

an  independent  sovereign.  But  to  do  this, 
even  to  attempt  it,  was  out  of  the  question, 
unless  the  whole  of  Lower  Egypt  could  be 
placed  upon  a  firm  war  footing. 

How  to  do  this  was,  and  for  a  long  time  had 
been,  Ismail's  great  difficulty.  An  American 
attached  to  his  Court  seemed  to  have  solved 
the  problem  for  him.  This  American  was 
Thaddeus  P.  Mott,  a  son  of  Dr.  Alexander 
Mott,  of  New  York,  and  at  the  time  I  refer  to 
—the  'sixties — he  was  attached  to  the  Khe- 
dive's service  with  the  rank  of  General. 

We  all  remember  that  at  the  close  of  the  war 
between  the  North  and  South  many  of  the  fore- 
most and  best-trained  military  men  in  this 
country,  who  had  stood  by  their  States,  went 
down  and  were  lost  with  their  cause. 

General  Mott's  idea  was  based  upon  this 
fact.  He  proposed  to  bring  into  Egypt  some  of 
these  distinguished  military  leaders  and  employ 
them  to  train  the  Viceroy's  troops. 

The  Viceroy  eagerly  accepted  this  plan,  and 
he  gave  orders  to  General  Mott  to  carry  it  into 
execution.  The  General  returned  to  the  United 
States  to  obtain  such  men  as,  in  his  judgment, 

197 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

'would  be  most  valuable,  and  of  the  officers  he 
selected  I  recall  Generals  Loring,  Rhett,  and 
Stone;  Colonels  Mason,  Purdy,  Hunt,  Du 
Chaillu-Long;  and  many  others. 

But  it  is  a  far  cry  from  America  to  Egypt. 
The  majority  of  the  officers  selected  were  men 
of  family,  and  when  the  war  was  over  they 
found  themselves  reduced  to  penury.  In  every 
case  it  was  necessary  to  advance  them  money 
with  which  to  equip  themselves  and  their  fam- 
ilies for  the  long  trip.  Thus,  when  they  arrived 
in  Egypt,  they  were  to  a  man,  deeply  in  debt 
to  the  Government  that  they  had  come  so  far 
to  serve,  and  they  still  needed  aid  to  provide 
their  families  with  homes;  so  that,  however 
dissatisfied  they  might  feel,  they  had  no  free- 
dom of  choice,  but  were  obliged  to  accept  any 
condition  that  might  present  itself. 

A  short  time  after  General  Mott's  departure, 
which  had  been  conducted  with  the  utmost 
secrecy  (as  was  supposed),  the  Porte  received 
information  as  to  the  motive  of  his  journey, 
and  the  Viceroy  had  been  made  quietly  but 
most  convincingly  to  understand  that  the  pres- 
ent state  of  his  army  was  perfectly  satisfactory, 

198 


THE  AMERICAN  CONTINGENT 

and  that  it  was  not  at  all  necessary,  nor  would 
it  be  advisable,  to  introduce  any  reforms. 

The  result  of  all  this  was  that  when  the 
American  contingent  arrived,  with  high  hopes 
and  reawakened  ambitions,  their  hopes  were 
dashed  to  the  ground,  and  their  ambitions  died 
in  their  hearts. 

The  generals  were  reduced  to  colonels,  the 
colonels  to  majors,  the  captains  to  lieutenants, 
and  so  on,  and  of  course  with  corresponding 
cuts  in  their  pay. 

Of  all  the  American  contingent  this  blow 
fell  most  heavily  upon  Charles  P.  Stone  and 
Thomas  W.  Rhett,  and  the  two  men  received 
this  blow  according  to  their  different  natures. 

General  Stone  was  cool,  calm,  and  self-con- 
tained. He  was  a  thorough  French  scholar, 
and  possessed  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  the 
acquisition  of  languages.  As  a  consequence, 
in  an  incredibly  brief  time  he  mastered  the 
Arabic  tongue.  This  combination  of  qualities 
enabled  him  to  turn  his  misfortune  into  success. 

Ismail  Pasha  was  himself  proficient  in  French, 
but  before  any  and  everything  else  he  was  an 
Arab  to  the  core  of  his  heart,  and  the  foreigner 

199 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

who  could  talk  with  him  in  his  beloved  native 
tongue  could  walk  straight  into  his  heart. 

And  straight  into  the  Viceroy's  heart  walked 
General  Stone.  He  received  the  appointment 
of  chief  of  staff  of  the  Egyptian  army,  with  the 
rank  and  pay  of  general;  fine  quarters  were 
assigned  to  him;  and  he  was  in  constant  per- 
sonal attendance  upon  the  Viceroy. 

General  Rhett  could  not  speak  French.  He 
spoke  only  English,  but  he  spoke  that  most 
forcibly  and  unmistakably,  and  he  was  much 
more  frank  and  forcible  in  the  expression  of 
his  opinions  and  of  his  general  dissatisfaction 
than  was  politic  under  the  circumstances.  The 
result  was  that  General  Rhett7 s  rank  was  per- 
manently reduced  to  a  colonelcy,  and  he  was 
officially  notified  that  he  could  not  begin  to 
draw  pay  until  his  debt  to  the  Egyptian  Govern- 
ment was  paid.  No  duties  were  given  him, 
and  his  quarters  were  inadequate  to  the  needs 
and  the  position  of  himself  and  his  family. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  Rhett  suc- 
cumbed to  these  repeated  blows  of  fate.  He 
suffered  a  stroke  of  paralysis  that  laid  him  help- 
less upon  his  bed,  with  his  left  side  dead. 

200 


GENERAL  SHERMAN'S  VISIT 

While  things  were  in  this  state  with  these 
two  men,  there  came  a  distinguished  visitor 
to  Egypt,  also  an  American  soldier.  This  was 
General  Sherman,  who,  in  a  warship  placed 
at  his  command  by  our  Government,  was 
making  his  famous  trip  around  the  world. 

These  three  men,  Sherman,  Rhett,  and  Stone, 
had  been  classmates  at  West  Point. 

Of  course  everybody  made  much  of  our  great 
hero,  and  on  all  hands  there  were  given  dinners, 
dances,  luncheons,  and  picnics  in  his  honour; 
and  greatly  General  Sherman  enjoyed  them. 

At  many  of  these  functions,  official  and  semi- 
official, General  Sherman  met  General  Stone, 
but  these  meetings  were  merely  ceremonious; 
there  was  never  any  cordiality  nor  any  attempt 
to  renew  old  acquaintance.  General  Sherman, 
to  the  last  hour  of  his  life,  never  relaxed  (but 
in  the  one  instance  I  shall  relate)  the  rigour 
of  his  resentment  against  those  who  took  part 
against  the  Union. 

In  the  midst  of  the  many  engagements  and 
distractions  consequent  upon  the  presence  of 
General  Sherman,  I  tried  not  to  neglect  my 
friends,  the  Rhetts.  I  was  sitting  one  day  at 

201 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

General  Rhett's  bedside,  endeavouring  to  en- 
tertain him  with  some  account  of  our  distin- 
guished visitor,  when,  after  a  rather  long  pause, 
he  said:  "I  have  never  seen  Sherman  since  he 
and  Stone  and  I  were  boys  together  in  'the  same 
class  at  West  Point.  Bill  Sherman  and  I  used 
to  be  mighty  chummy  then.  And  now  we  have 
drifted  away  off  here,  I  wonder  if  he  would 
come  and  see  me?  I  would  like  mighty  well 
to  shake  hands  with  him." 

I  had  known  of  the  former  friendship  of  these 
men,  and  I  had  watched,  with  interest,  the 
attitude  of  Sherman  and  Stone  to  each  other. 
Remembering  that,  and  remembering  too,  the 
hard,  stern  lines  of  Sherman's  face,  I  feared 
there  was  little  likelihood  of  poor  Rhett's  wish 
being  realised.  So  I  remained  silent.  But 
I  promised  myself  that  it  should  be  tried. 

With  this  purpose  steadily  before  me,  and 
most  carefully  keeping  my  own  counsel,  I  not 
only  took  advantage  of  every  opportunity  that 
I  had  of  meeting  General  Sherman,  but  I  made 
opportunities  whenever  I  could.  I  did  my 
best  to  cultivate  him,  to  make  him  like  me,  and, 
as  this  was  the  beginning  of  a  friendship  with 

202 


GENERAL  SHERMAN  ENTRAPPED 

this  great  man  that  ended  only  with  his  life,  I 
think  I  may  say  that  I  succeeded. 

While  staying  in  Cairo  I  was  spending  a 
great  deal  of  time  on  a  dahabeah  that  the  Vice- 
roy had  placed  at  my  disposal.  I  gave  Gen- 
eral Sherman  an  informal  invitation  to  break- 
fast with  me  on  board  that  craft,  promising 
that  I  would  try  to  give  him  something  like  an 
old-fashioned  home  breakfast. 

The  General  accepted;  the  breakfast  was 
nearer  to  our  expectations  than  I  could  have 
dared  to  hope,  and  after  we  had  adjourned 
to  the  upper  deck  and  the  General  had  lighted 
his  cigar,  I  opened  fire,  told  him  my  little  story, 
and  made  my  request.  But  when  I  saw  the 
effect  I  had  produced  I  confess  I  was  frightened. 

The  General  afterward  told  me  that  he  felt 
himself  fairly  —  or  rather  unfairly  — entrapped, 
and  he  could  not  remember  having  ever  felt 
more  angry  with  a  woman. 

The  lines  in  his  face  grew  hard  and  cold  as 
ice,  and  a  steely  glint  came  into  his  eyes.  When 
I  saw  these  things  I  realised  for  the  first  time 
to  what  an  extent  I  had  committed  myself,  and 
had  allowed  my  sympathies  to  carry  away  my 

203 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

judgment.  Somehow  my  voice  failed  me,  and 
I  am  afraid  my  eloquence  rather  trailed  off. 

The  General  rose,  and,  looking  down  upon 
me  with  impassive  severity,  said: 

"Madam,  I  am  sorry,  but  I  cannot  entertain 
your  request.  I  am  an  officer  of  the  United 
States  Army  and  a  loyal  citizen  of  the  Republic, 
—  two  facts  which,  in  the  warmth  and  zeal  of 
your  friendship,  you  seem  to  have  overlooked. 
I  will  never  do  anything  that  might  in  the 
remotest  way  give  aid  or  comfort  to  my  coun- 
try's enemies." 

As  may  readily  be  understood,  I  was  crushed, 
and  if  the  General  had  carried  out  what  seemed 
to  be  his  intention  —  to  turn  upon  his  heel  and 
walk  ashore  (as  I  ought  to  have  mentioned  the 
boat  was  moored), —  the  matter  would  have 
ended  there,  and  General  Rhett  would  have 
lost  his  wish;  but  by  a  special  good  fortune 
he  had  left  his  hat  in  the  cabin.  When  he  dis- 
covered this,  his  temper  got  the  better  of  his 
dignity,  and  while  he  was  looking  about  for  his 
hat  he  let  drop  a  few  warm  expressions  about 
"rattlesnakes"  and  "damned  rebels." 

I  was  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  this 
204 


MEETING  OLD  FRIENDS 

lapse.  I  took  his  hand  and  drew  him  back  to 
his  place  upon  the  settee.  I  begged  him  to 
forgive  me.  I  told  him  that  in  my  wish  to 
serve  a  friend  I  had  forgotten  that  I  was  talk- 
ing to  a  great  man,  the  hero  of  "the  March  to 
the  Sea."  I  had  just  meant  to  tell  "Bill" 
Sherman,  who  had  been  at  West  Point  with 
"Tom"  Rhett  when  they  were  both  boys,  how 
unfortunate  and  unhappy  poor  Tom  Rhett 
was,  and  had  wondered  if  Bill  Sherman  wouldn't 
like  to  shake  hands  with  him ! 

By  good  fortune  I  struck  the  right  chord. 
The  General  forgave  me.  I  was  not  slow  to 
follow  up  my  advantage,  and  in  less  time  than 
it  takes  to  tell  it  he  and  I  were  on  our  way  to 
Rhett 's  quarters. 

There,  after  brief,  ordinary  greetings,  the 
two  men  were  left  alone  together.  Mrs.  Rhett 
and  I  retired  and  indulged  in  a  good  cry.  When, 
after  some  time,  we  were  summoned  to  join 
them,  the  eyes  of  both  old  soldiers  were  sus- 
piciously red,  and  their  furrowed  faces  both 
bore  traces  of  tears. 


205 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  FELLAHEEN  OF  EGYPT — TAXATION — "HOW  THE 
OTHER  HALF  LIVES"  IN  THE  EAST —  A  BEDOUIN  FAMILY 
AT  RAMLEH  —  AN  ARAB  MOTHER-IN-LAW — MARRIAGE 
\  LA  MODE 

Now  that  Egypt  is  virtually  under  English  rule, 
the  condition  of  the  lower  classes  may  be  a 
shade  better  than  when  I  lived  there,  some 
thirty  years  ago.  Then  the  country  was  a 
mere  dependency  of  Turkey,  and  its  sovereign 
was,  as  his  title  indicated,  the  slave  of  the 
Sultan. 

There  were  but  two  native  classes  —  the 
rich  and  titled,  and  the  labourers,  and  the  gulf 
which  divided  those  two  classes  was  deep  and 
impassable.  There  was  an  utter  absence  of 
a  prosperous  middle  class.  All  the  trade  en- 
terprise of  the  country  was  in  the  hands  of 
foreigners. 

Of  the  native  population,  only  those  attached 
to  the  Court  and  high  in  favour  would  care 
to  own  to  the  possession  of  much  of  this  world's 
206 


THE  FELLAHEEN  OF  EGYPT 

goods.  Anything  more  deplorable  than  the 
condition  of  the  fellaheen,  or  labouring  class, 
cannot  be  imagined.  Of  home,  its  comforts, 
possessions,  beauties,  they  knew  absolutely 
nothing.  A  mud  hut,  with  a  hole  for  entrance 
and  exit,  a  straw  mat,  a  goolah  to  contain  water, 
which  is  dipped  from  the  river,  and  an  iron 
pot,  would  fairly  represent  their  worldly  pos- 
sessions. A  single  garment  of  indigo-blue 
cotton  cloth,  with  a  white  cotton  skull-cap, 
several  yards  of  soft,  white  cotton  cloth,  and 
a  red  tarboosh,  would  customarily  summarise 
their  wardrobe.  The  blue  cotton  garment  — 
a  sort  of  compromise  between  a  nightshirt 
and  a  butcher's  smock  — was  the  sole  covering 
for  the  body.  The  other  articles  served  to 
cover  the  head,  for,  however  scarce  the  Mussul- 
man's body-garments  may  be,  his  head  is 
always  warmly  clad. 

But  let  it  not  for  a  moment  be  supposed  that 
the  establishment  which  I  have  described  is 
carried  on  free  of  expense.  The  rent  for  the 
mud-hole  is  rigorously  demanded  and  collect- 
ed. The  food,  usually  bought  ready  cooked 
from  a  vender  sitting  in  squalid  rags  on  some 

207 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

corner,  with  one  eye  on  the  steaming  pot  beside 
him,  and  the  other  zealously  watching  for  cus- 
tomers, is  never  obtained  without  much  scream- 
ing and  haggling  and  bargaining. 

The  head  of  a  family  living  thus  may,  with 
much  secrecy  and  economy,  have  managed 
in  the  course  of  many  months  to  accumulate 
a  few  coins,  an  indiscriminate  collection  of 
copper  and  silver,  and  possibly,  but  not  prob- 
ably, a  few  gold  coins  of  every  nation  under 
the  sun.  These,  carefully  concealed  in  an 
earthen  vessel,  will  be  hidden  somewhere  under 
the  earthen  floor  of  the  hut.  I  often  heard  that 
a  good  Mussulman's  hoard  was  almost  sure 
to  be  found  not  far  from  the  spot  where  he 
usually  offered  up  his  prayers.  He  might  be 
saving  this  hoard  for  some  special  and  highly 
coveted  purpose, —  perhaps  to  buy  from  her 
parents  some  dark-eyed  maiden  upon  whom 
his  eyes  had  rested,  and  whom  he  desired  to 
add  to  the  number  of  his  already  numerous 
wives.  Or  even  a  more  solemn  and  sacred 
motive  may  have  urged  him.  Perhaps  he 
looked  forward  to  that  highest  hope  of  the  good 
Mohammedan,  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  the 

208 


GOVERNMENT  BAKSHEESH 


accomplishment  of  which  hope  would  confer 
upon  him,  on  his  return,  the  right  to  wear  a 
green  turban,  and  to  paint  green  the  lintel- 
posts  of  his  hut,  if  he  had  one. 

Whatever  might  be  his  motive  for  the  col- 
lection of  this  little  hoard,  his  possession  of  it 
would  be  very  short-lived  if  there  happened  to 
arise  any  sudden  desire  or  necessity  for  bak- 
sheesh on  the  part  of  the  government.  This 
baksheesh  would  be  called  taxes,  and  the  occa- 
sions for  the  collections  of  taxes  were  numer- 
ous and  arose  from  many  causes. 

Possibly  the  Sultan  wished  to  replenish  his 
seraglio  with  some  fresh  Georgian  beauties, 
a  carefully  selected  bunch  of  whom  had  just 
reached  Constantinople  in  the  charge  of  some 
venerable  sheik.  They  came  high,  but  the  Sun 
of  the  Universe  wanted  them,  and  perhaps 
the  exchequer  was  low.  In  this  crisis,  what 
so  natural  as  that  the  Sun  should  communicate 
his  wishes  to  his  faithful  satellite,  the  Viceroy 
of  Egypt?  The  Viceroy  would  at  once  be 
impressed  with  the  thought  that  the  public 
interest  must  be  conserved,  the  exchequer  must 
be  replenished,  and  the  fellaheen  must  be  taxed. 

209 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

The  consular  agents  of  the  Egyptian  Govern- 
ment throughout  the  country  would  be  notified 
that  at  a  certain  time  the  duly  authorised  agents 
would  arrive  to  receive  from  their  hands  a 
specified  amount,  such  amount  to  be  regulated 
by  the  number  of  miserable  wretches  existing 
in  whichever  little  village  might  be  in  point. 

Then  would  begin  the  collection,  conducted 
by  a  small  military  force  on  one  side,  and  the 
howling,  writhing,  screaming  populace  on  the 
other,  the  ceremony  usually  ending  with  a 
pretty  general  administering  of  the  bastinado, 
the  result  of  which  would  be  the  production  of 
hoards  from  various  hiding-places. 

A  great  stretch  of  sand  divided  my  house  at 
Ramleh  from  the  Mediterranean,  and  on  this 
patch  of  sand  a  Bedouin  family  set  up  their 
roof-tree,  which  consisted  of  a  tiny  tent,  com- 
posed of  parti-coloured  rags,  stretched  over 
three  crooked  sticks.  This  wretched  little 
shelter,  with  its  poverty,  would  have  put  to 
shame  any  Indian  tepee  I  ever  saw  on  the 
plains.  The  family  consisted  of  the  father, 
mother,  and  twenty  sons.  I  should  rather  say 

210 


AN  ARAB  MOTHER-IN-LAW 

mother,  father,  etc.,  for  the  old  lady  was  un- 
deniably the  head  of  the  house.  Nineteen  of 
the  twenty  sons  were  married  and  lived  else- 
where; but  now  one  and  now  another  of  them 
would  come  to  visit  their  parents,  and  they 
always  brought  with  them  a  few  wives  and  a 
small  regiment  of  children. 

These  visits  were  of  irregular  length,  and 
were  usually  brought  to  a  somewhat  abrupt 
end  in  the  midst  of  an  animated  discussion 
between  the  visiting  wives  and  the  resident 
mother-in-law,  during  which  the  former  guests 
would  hastily  depart  down  the  hill  in  an  irregu- 
lar double-quick,  to  an  accompaniment  of  shrill 
anathema,  empty  tin  cans,  and  other  missiles 
flung  after  them  by  the  irate  old  lady. 

The  apple  of  her  eye,  the  light  of  her  life, 
her  youngest  son,  was  a  tall,  grand-looking 
young  bronze  standing  six  foot  three.  He  lived 
with  his  parents  and  was  unmarried,  but  had 
recently  fallen  in  love  with  a  comely  little  dusky 
maiden  of  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  and 
after  many  meetings,  and  much  warm  dis- 
cussion, haggling,  and  bargaining  between  the 
parents  of  the  pair,  the  price  of  the  bride  was 

211 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

settled  upon,  and  the  time  of  the  wedding  was 
fixed.  The  preparations  were  of  an  unusually 
extensive  and  elaborate  character,  and  were 
carried  on  with  great  activity.  The  old  lady 
made  frequent  pilgrimages  from  home,  remain- 
ing absent  for  several  days,  leading  one  to  sus- 
pect that,  in  the  words  of  Fagin,  she  was  going 
"on  the  prowl."  Sometimes  her  husband  would 
meekly  and  unprotestingly  make  a  weak  at- 
tempt to  accompany  her  on  these  little  expedi- 
tions, but  the  old  lady  promptly  frowned  down 
such  attempts,  using  her  usual  methods  of 
persuasion, —  any  missile  within  easy  reach 
as  she  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  sandhill.  The 
old  gentleman  would  quietly  turn  about,  re- 
enter  the  tent,  and  address  himself  to  his  needle- 
work, for  evidently  to  him  was  entrusted  the 
making  of  the  trousseau. 

At  last  the  wedding  night  arrived.  The 
bride  was  glittering  with  coins,  the  air  was 
rent  with  twanging,  moaning,  squeaking  sounds 
that  passed  for  music,  and  voices  arose  in  chant. 
Hands  were  joined  in  a  simple,  swaying  move- 
ment that  passed  for  dancing,  and  all  went 
merrily.  Suddenly  I  was  summoned  to  re- 

212 


MARRIAGE  A   LA  MODE 

ceive  my  neighbour,  the  head  of  the  family. 
The  old  lady  was  greatly  embarrassed,  and,  as 
she  stood  in  the  moonlight,  with  her  bare, 
brown  legs  showing  under  her  simple  blue 
garment, —  in  fact  she  was  quite  decollete  at 
both  ends, —  and  with  her  elf-locks,  coloured 
with  henna,  fluttering  in  the  soft,  night  air, 
she  was  a  model  of  Meg  Merrilies. 

The  occasion  of  her  visit  was  to  tell  of  a 
disaster.  At  this  late  hour  it  was  discovered 
that  no  sugar  had  been  provided  with  which 
to  sweeten  the  sherbet.  The  family  stores  were 
promptly  placed  before  her,  and  she  was  bidden 
to  help  herself.  She  selected  the  brown,  moist 
sugar,  drew  up  her  solitary  garment  until  she 
had  formed  it  into  an  impromptu  bag,  filled 
this  with  sugar,  overwhelmed  us  with  thanks 
and  blessings,  and  went  on  her  way  rejoicing. 


213 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BACK  TO  THE  STAGE  —  SHOOK  &  PALMER  AND  THE  UNION 
SQUARE  THEATRE,  NEW  YORK  —  CHARLES  THORNE  — 
DION  BOUCICAULT  —  "  LED  ASTRAY  "  —  "  BLOW  FOR 
BLOW"  —  MARIE  WILKINS 

WHEN  I  came  back  to  America,  about  1872  or 
1873,  I  had  no  intention  of  ever  returning  to 
the  stage;  I  do  not  know  that  I  had  any  settled 
purpose  one  way  or  the  other.  As  I  had  gone 
to  Europe  and  the  East  because  the  shaping 
of  my  life  drew  me  there,  so  I  came  home  when 
fate  called  me. 

And  very  gladly  I  obeyed  that  call,  for  I  had 
yearned  and  wearied  for  my  home;  but  when 
I  found  myself  at  home  once  more  my  life  was 
such  a  full  and  busy  one  that  it  seemed  there 
was  no  room  in  it  for  more  work;  and  for  that 
reason  I  concluded  that  my  life  as  an  actress 
was  ended. 

But  then,  as  always,  the  stage  was  my  loyal, 
faithful,  wise  friend;  much  wiser  for  me,  and 
much  kinder  to  me,  than  I  have  ever  been  to 
myself.  Thus  it  fell  out  that  after  I  had  thought 

214 


MY  RETURN  TO  THE  STAGE 

my  stage  career  was  ended  I  did  my  highest 
and  my  best  dramatic  work;  playing  for  the 
first  time,  among  other  parts,  Lady  Macbeth, 
Cleopatra,  Hermione,  Rose  Michel,  Gabrielle 
Le  Brun,  Felicia,  and  Miss  Multon. 

My  return  to  the  stage  was  brought  about 
by  the  wishes  and  through  the  offers  of  the 
then  leading  American  managers,  Lester  Wai- 
lack,  Augustin  Daly,  and  Shook  &  Palmer. 

As  my  old  friends  as  well  as  my  former  man- 
agers, Lester  Wallack  and  Augustin  Daly  both 
called  upon  me  and  made  me  tempting  offers 
to  join  their  forces.  While  I  was  considering 
under  which  banner  I  should  enroll  myself, 
A.  M.  Palmer,  of  the  firm  of  Shook  &  Palmer, 
managers  of  the  Union  Square  Theatre,  called, 
and,  on  behalf  of  his  partner  and  himself,  made 
me  an  equally  flattering  offer. 

Shook  &  Palmer  and  their  theatre  were 
alike  strangers  to  me,  but  Sheridan  Shook  was 
a  protege  of  my  old  friend,  Thurlow  Weed, 
and  Thurlow  Weed  threw  the  weight  of  his 
influence  in  favour  of  the  Union  Square  Theatre, 
and  to  the  Union  Square  Theatre  I  went. 

215 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

That  theatre  had  then  been  but  recently 
lifted  from  the  variety  to  the  legitimate  standard, 
and  the  company  occupying  the  stage  at  that 
time  was  acting  a  piece  adapted  from  the 
French  play  called  "Le  Centenaire." 

The  play  in  which  I  first  appeared  was  "The 
Geneva  Cross, "  a  four-act  drama  founded  upon 
the  Franco-Prussian  War,  written  by  George 
Fawcett  Rowe.  I  played  Gabrielle  Le  Brun 
and  Charles  Thorne  played  Kiel  Dubourg. 

Ah!  that  Charles  Thorne!  He  was  a  good, 
strong,  virile  actor;  but  he  was  also  an  invet- 
erate and  adroit  "guyer,"  and  it  was  no  simple 
matter,  after  he  became  easy  in  his  lines,  to 
play  a  serious  scene  with  him.  For  instance, 
in  a  most  dramatic  situation  in  "The  Geneva 
Cross,"  I  was  called  upon  to  say  to  him,  "Who 
are  you?"  and  he  ought  to  have  answered 
heroically,  "I  am  Riel  Dubourg."  What  he 
did  say  was,  "I  am  the  pie-biter  of  Surinam." 

The  next  play  in  which  I  acted  was  the  old 
blank- verse  drama,  "Love's  Sacrifice,"  I  play- 
ing Margaret  Elmore.    This  part  was  one  that 
216 


UNION  SQUARE  REHEARSALS 

I  had  often  played  when  I  was  associated  with 
Wallack  and  Davenport,  J.  W.  Wallack  play- 
ing Matthew  Elmore  and  E.  L.  Davenport 
playing  St.  Lo.  The  piece  was  put  on  at  the 
Union  Square  only  because  "Led  Astray,"  then 
in  course  of  preparation  was  not  ready;  and 
the  intention  was  to  run  it  for  only  one  week, 
by  which  time  it  was  calculated  that  "Led 
Astray"  would  be  ready.  But  "Love's  Sac- 
rifice" played  to  such  unexpectedly  good  busi- 
ness that  it  was  kept  on  for  several  weeks. 

During  all  this  time  we  continued  to  rehearse 
"Led  Astray,"  and  the  result  of  these  long- 
continued  rehearsals  was  that  the  first  per- 
formance was  as  smooth  and  as  well  rounded 
and  in  every  respect  as  satisfactory  as  was  the 
last  performance  after  a  continuous  run  of  six 
months. 

These  rehearsals  were  conducted  by  Dion 
Boucicault,  who  had  translated  and  adapted 
the  piece  from  "La  Tentation,"  I  think,  of 
Octave  Feuillet,  and  they  were  equal  to  a  liberal 
dramatic  education. 

The  play  was  like  a  child  whose  growth  one 
can  mark  from  day  to  day.  Boucicault  did 

217 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

not  edit  it  with  a  pair  of  scissors  and  a  paste- 
pot,  but  he  corrected  it  with  a  note-book  and 
a  pencil. 

There  were  in  the  company  one  or  two  per- 
sons who  could,  on  occasion,  say  some  rather 
bright  things.  "These  things  to  hear"  would 
Dion  Boucicault  "seriously  incline";  but  while 
the  company  laughed  at  them  at  the  moment 
and  forgot  them  the  next,  not  so  the  astute 
Dion;  he  would  either  pass  them  by  appar- 
ently without  notice,  or  with  a  grave  expression 
of  disapproval  at  our  levity  in  such  a  serious 
moment. 

But  the  next  morning,  at  a  place  in  the  dia- 
logue where  one  of  these  quips  could  be  used 
with  profit,  our  mentor  would  pause,  as  if  a 
thought  had  just  struck  him,  and  say,  "Stop  a 
bit,"  and  out  would  come  that  little  note-book, 
"Just  say,  instead  of  so-and-so," —  and  then  he 
would  read,  as  a  quite  fresh  thought,  some 
child  of  wit  that  had  been  born  at  the  previous 
day's  rehearsal. 

When  this  first  occurred,  the  quiet  coolness 
of  the  transaction  somewhat  took  away  our 
breath;  but  afterward  we  used  rather  to  await 

218 


"LED  ASTRAY' 

with  interest  the  advent  of  these  little  waifs. 
But  never  did  any  one  venture  to  intimate  to 
the  great  dramatist  that  this  little  trick  of 
annexation  had  been  observed. 

And  Dion  Boucicault  was  a  great  man, — 
great  if  only  in  his  power  to  assimilate  the  work 
of  others,  and,  clothing  it  in  the  graceful  garb 
of  his  own  charming  words,  make  the  world 
forget  that  it  had  ever  had  a  previous  existence. 

During  the  half-year  run  of  "Led  Astray" 
there  occurred  many  incidents,  unimportant  in 
themselves,  but  which  were  all  factors  in  keeping 
things  lively  and  active  among  us.  I  myself 
never  had  any  admiration  for  either  the  play 
or  for  my  part  in  it.  I  had  conceived  this 
rather  unfavourable  opinion  on  my  first  reading 
of  the  manuscript,  and  the  favour  with  which 
both  the  play  and  my  part  in  it  were  received 
never  had  the  effect  of  changing  my  verdict. 

Indeed,  my  low  estimate  of  my  part  was  so 
clear  that  I  said  to  both  Mr.  Palmer  and  Mr. 
Boucicault  that  if  I  succeeded  in  getting  any- 
thing out  of  the  part  the  credit  would  be  due 
rather  to  me  than  to  Mr.  B.;  and  the  fact  that 

219 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

many  excellent  actresses,  from  time  to  time, 
essayed  the  part,  and  not  one  of  them  ever 
achieved  any  success  in  it,  would  seem  to  go 
far  to  prove  that,  so  far  at  least,  my  judgment 

was  correct. 

I  think  my  success  was  due,  not  to  any  super- 
excellent  work  on  my  part,  but  only  because  I 
was  fortunate  in  catching  its  keynote,  which 
was  essentially  minor.  Throughout  the  play  the 
character  was  negative.  More  than  any  part  I 
have  ever  played,  it  demanded  repose,  enforced 
repose.  During  the  entire  action  Armande  is 
called  upon  to  do  nothing,  but  to  do  it  well. 

Despite  my  slighting  estimate  of  Armande, 
it  is  only  justice  to  her  to  acknowledge  that  she 
brought  me  great  store  of  popularity;  and  I  be- 
lieve that  this  popularity  was  very  largely  due 
to  a  little  verse  that  I  was  called  upon  to  read. 

It  ran  thus: 

"  I  have  another  life  I  long  to  meet, 
Without  which  life  my  life  is  incomplete. 
O  sweeter  self!  like  me,  art  thou,  astray, 
Trying,  like  me,  to  find  the  way  to  mine; 
Trying,  like  me,  to  find  the  breast 
On  which  alone  can  weary  heart  find  rest?" 
220 


A  POPULAR  STANZA 

Boucicault  settled  upon  this  verse  only  after 
trying  many  others,  and  I  believe  it  was  orig- 
inal. One  morning  he  handed  me  a  copy  of 
it,  saying:  "Try  this;  let  us  see  how  it  goes." 
My  reading  of  the  lines  caught  his  fancy,  and 
they  went;  and  I  believe  there  never  was  a 
stanza  of  poetry  that  sprang  into  such  instan- 
taneous popularity.  Wherever  one  happened 
to  go,  or  to  be,  one  was  quite  sure  to  hear, 
"I  have  another  life,"  etc. 

I  was  inundated  with  requests  for  auto- 
graphed copies.  I  believe,  if  an  account- 
ing could  be  made,  it  would  be  found  that 
these  lines  outnumber  any  other  stanza  of 
verse  in  the  autograph  albums  of  the  country. 
Even  to-day  I  am  often  asked  for  a  copy  of 
them. 

I  must  confess  that  I  have  never  felt  any 
admiration  for  the  lines.  I  think  them  forced 
and  artificial.  But  they  have  lived,  and  they 
will  live  when  better  verse  is  forgotten. 

In  gossiping  in  this  way  about  work  done 
and  undone  at  rehearsal,  I  am  reminded  of 
something  that  happened  to  a  play  at  Wal- 

221 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

lack's  Theatre  while  I  was  there  with  Wallack 
and  Davenport. 

There  was  cast  and  put  into  rehearsal  a  play 
called  "Blow  for  Blow,"  written  by  Henry  J. 
Byron,  who  at  that  time  was  very  popular  in 
London.  Lester  Wallack  had  seen  the  piece 
there,  and  had  secured  it  for  his  theatre,  ex- 
pecting that  in  New  York  it  would  repeat  its 
London  success. 

To  Wallack,  Davenport,  and  myself  were 
assigned  the  leading  parts.  At  the  reading  of 
the  play  we  three  were  unanimous  that  there 
was  nothing  in  it.  Study  and  rehearsal  of  the 
parts  served  only  to  strengthen  and  crystallise 
this  opinion,  and  we  entered  upon  our  work 
very  half-heartedly. 

Lester  Wallack,  as  was  his  custom,  directed 
the  rehearsals.  Davenport,  Wallack,  and  — 
I  am  bound  to  confess  —  myself  also,  would, 
sotto  voce,  interpolate  between  our  lines  divers 
remarks,  editorial,  critical,  and  slighting,  re- 
garding the  play,  and  we  enjoyed  our  own 
comedy  much  more  than  the  author's. 

Wallack,  who  had  a  rare  sense  of  humour 
and  a  ready  wit,  often  had  great  difficulty  in 

222 


LEVITY  REBUKED 

repressing  his  desire  to  laugh;  and  once  or 
twice  we  were  too  much  for  him,  and  he  would, 
sorely  against  his  will,  join  in  our  merriment; 
but  he  would  instantly  recover  himself,  "pull 
himself  together,"  call  everybody  to  order,  and 
continue  the  rehearsal  with  renewed  rigour  and 
severity.  Sometimes  he  would  sternly  rebuke 
us  for  this  levity  in  business,  and  remind  us 
of  the  bad  example  which  we  were  setting  the 
rest  of  the  company;  and  once  or  twice  he  fell 
into  a  positive  rage,  and  spoke  very  sharply  of 
our  neglect  of  duty. 

During  a  week  or  ten  days  of  continuous 
rehearsals  this  state  of  things  continued,  when 
one  morning,  after  a  repetition  of  one  of  these 
interludes,  Lester  gave  some  order  in  a  low 
tone  to  the  call-boy,  who  went  to  each  of  us  in 
turn,  collected  the  parts,  and  laid  them  on  the 
prompt-table. 

Lester,  with  great  deliberation,  made  a  neat 
parcel  of  the  manuscript  and  parts,  tied  it  up, 
and,  putting  it  under  his  arm,  lifted  his  hat, 
and  bidding  us  a  ceremonious  good-morning 
marched  off  the  stage  and  out  of  the  theatre, 
leaving  everybody  present,  but  especially  we 

223 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

three  culprits,  looking  blankly  at  each  other. 
We  never  heard  of  "Blow  for  Blow"  again. 

But  to  return  to  the  Union  Square  Theatre 
and  "Led  Astray." 

Charles  Thorne  was  genial,  witty,  and  amus- 
ing; but  he  could  give  a  joke  in  better  spirit 
than  he  could  take  one,  and  because  of  this, 
and  for  other  reasons,  he  and  I  had  many  a 
tilt. 

One  of  these  was  occasioned  by  his  address- 
ing me  by  my  Christian  name.  Now,  while 
I  have  a  great  liking  to  be  addressed  without  the 
conventional  "Miss"  or  "Mrs.,"  familiarity 
of  personal  address  with  the  Christian  name 
only,  except  among  members  of  a  family  or 
very  close  friends,  has  always  been  distasteful 
to  me.  So,  taking  Thorne  aside,  I  mentioned 
my  feeling  in  the  matter,  and  begged  him  to 
avoid  a  repetition  of  the  offence. 

He  took  great  umbrage  at  this,  and  blustered 
out,  "Oh,  very  well!  If  you  are  so  mighty 
particular,  I  won't  speak  to  you  at  all!"  I, 
being  quite  as  peppery  as  he  was,  retorted, 
"Just  as  you  please."  And  so  for  about  six 
224 


CHARLES  THORNE 

weeks,  though  we  acted  together,  we  never 
spoke  to  each  other  in  our  own  persons. 

One  night,  as  I  entered  the  greenroom, 
Thorne,  who  was  already  there,  said  to  me, 
"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Siddons?"  Whereupon 
I  replied,  "Quite  well,  thank  you,  John  Philip 
Kemble."  He  glanced  at  me,  and  a  smile 
peeped  out  from  behind  a  scowl,  and,  walking 
over  to  me,  he  held  out  his  hand  and  said,  "Rose 
Eytinge,  shake!"  I  "shook,"  and  peace  was 
restored  between  us. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  success  I  achieved 
as  Armande  Chandoce,  I  never  had  any  liking 
or  respect  for  her,  especially  objecting  to  a 
speech  which  she  had  in  the  last  act.  It  was 
so  replete  with  "sweetness  and  light,"  and 
breathed  such  a  spirit  of  humility  and  submis- 
sion, that  I  found  it  rather  insipid. 

One  night,  on  my  saying  something  about 
this,  Thorne  said,  "If  you  object  so  much  to 
that  speech,  let  us  hear  to-night  what  you 
would  like  to  say."  Nothing  daunted,  I  re- 
plied, "I  will,"  and  when  I  got  my  "cue"  I  did. 
I  concluded  a  speech  which  in  sentiment  was 
exactly  the  opposite  of  the  author's  idea  with 
225 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

these  words,  "And  remember,  dear,  while  you 
may  feel  that  you  owe  much  to  your  husband, 
you  must  always  remember  that  you  owe  some- 
thing to  yourself." 

For  once,  Thorne,  who  was  given  to  doing 
and  saying  all  sorts  of  irrelevancies,  was  beaten 
at  his  own  game;  and  he  was  taken  so  com- 
pletely by  surprise  that  it  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  he  recovered  himself  and  took 
up  the  scene. 

You  may  be  sure  that  when  the  curtain  fell 
I  made  excellent  time  to  my  dressing-room. 

I  have  no  word  of  excuse  or  extenuation  to 
offer  for  my  conduct.  I  have  only  to  acknowl- 
edge that  I  richly  deserved  the  "talk"  that  Mr. 
Palmer  afterward  bestowed  upon  me. 

It  was  an  unusual  thing  for  Mr.  Palmer  to 
interfere  in  any  way  with  the  work  on  the  stage; 
he  had  surrounded  himself  with  a  company 
in  whose  work  both  he  and  the  public  had  the 
fullest  confidence,  and  he  let  them  alone. 
Occasionally,  however,  some  one  or  other  of 
us  had  to  be  "pulled  up"  for  carelessness,  and 
that  one  was  very  likely  to  be  myself. 

226 


DION  BOUCICAULT 

,  In  "Led  Astray,"  six  months  are  supposed  to 
elapse  between  the  first  and  second  acts.  One 
night  —  I  suppose  I  was  feeling  ill,  or  tired  — 
I  omitted  to  change  my  costume  between  these 
acts.  At  the  close  of  the  act  Mr.  Palmer  met 
me,  quite  as  if  by  accident.  He  stopped  me 
for  a  moment's  chat,  and  then  said  suavely, 
and  as  if  he  were  paying  me  a  compliment, 
"That  is  such  a  charming  costume,  and  it 
wears  so  well  too!  Why,  you  have  worn  it 
six  months." 

I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  Dion  Bouci- 
cault  behind  the  scenes  or  on  the  stage  during 
the  long  run  of  his  play.  The  last  rehearsal 
and  the  first  performance  were  both  so  satis- 
factory that  there  was  none  of  that  cutting  out, 
pulling  together,  and  smoothing  of  rough  places 
usually  found  necessary.  But  I  remember 
with  pleasure  that  on  the  hundredth  perform- 
ance he  sent  me  a  gracious  letter  of  thanks  for 
my  work,  accompanying  it  with  a  beautiful 
and  valuable  bracelet. 

I  think  it  was  while  we  were  playing  "Led 

227 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

Astray"  that  Thorne  had  some  difference  of 
opinion  with  a  brother  actor  relative  to  some 
business  during  the  scene  upon  which  the 
curtain  had  just  fallen.  The  argument  wax- 
ing warm,  Mrs.  Marie  Wilkins  rushed  between 
the  belligerents  and  attempted  to  soothe  their 
excitement. 

Now  Marie  Wilkins  presented  a  fine,  broad 
front;  she  was  one  of  those  women  of  whom 
it  has  been  aptly  said  that  their  figures  were 
"not  lost,  but  gone  before,"  and,  Thorne  be- 
coming momentarily  more  tumultuous,  his 
adversary  prudently  took  refuge  behind  Mrs. 
Wilkins  and  continued  the  quarrel  over  her 
shoulder.  Whereupon  some  one  remarked  that 
he  had  sought  sanctuary  behind  the  bulwarks 
of  old  England. 

I  could  chat  about  "Led  Astray"  and  the 
happenings  among  the  men  and  women  who 
played  in  it  almost  indefinitely,  for  they  formed 
a  very  interesting  group.  But  the  affairs  of 
a  company  which  is  thrown  together  for  a  long 
time,  as  was  this,  are  like  those  of  a  family,  and, 
as  is  the  case  with  the  doings  of  a  family,  they 
228 


STAGE  AFFAIRS 

would  not  interest  the  general  public.  We  had 
our  friendships  and  our  feuds,  our  confidences 
and  our  cabals,  our  tricks  and  our  jokes,  our 
quarrels  and  our  makings  up. 


229 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"THE  TWO  ORPHANS"  —  "THE  LADY  OF  LYONS"  —  GEORGE 

RIGNOLD  —  "  ROSE      MICHEL"  —  STEELE      MACKAYE  — 
JOHN  PARSELLE  AND  CHARLES  THORNE  —  TOM  TAYLOR 

IF  my  memory  serves  me,  the  next  important 
production  that  followed  "Led  Astray"  at  the 
Union  Square  Theatre  was  "The  Two  Or- 
phans." As  this  play  contains  two  leading- 
woman  parts,  Henriette  and  Louise,  and  as  I 
was  the  leading  woman  of  the  theatre,  I  could 
not  see  my  way  to  appearing  in  the  play. 

My  decision  caused  Mr.  Palmer  a  good  deal 
of  chagrin,  and  many  talks  between  us  resulted 
therefrom.  At  last  a  compromise  was  reached. 
I  consented  to  play  Marianne  for  the  first  fort- 
night, that  the  cast  might  have  the  strength  of 
my  name. 

The  play  ran  for  six  months,  and  for  the 
whole  of  that  period  I  walked  about,  drawing 
my  salary,  and  doing  nothing.  This  was  not 

230 


"THE  LADY  OF  LYONS'1 

necessary,  for  I  was  quite  willing  to  take  a 
vacation  and  fill  my  time  with  other  enterprises, 
but  Mr.  Palmer  persistently  declined  to  enter- 
tain any  proposal  to  release  me  from  his  com- 
pany. 

One  offer  that  I  received  was  particularly 
tempting.  Lester  Wallack  wanted  to  produce 
"Lady  Clancarty,"  and  to  engage  me  to  play 
the  title-role.  He  opened  negotiations  to  ob- 
tain my  services,  but 

I  do  not  remember  having  taken  part  in  any 
performance  during  that  time,  save  one,  when 
A.  M.  Palmer,  my  manager,  and  Harry  Palmer, 
George  Rignold's  manager,  joined  in  giving 
a  double-star  holiday  performance  of  "The 
Lady  of  Lyons."  I  played  Pauline,  and  Rig- 
nold  Claude.  The  occasion  was  a  Thanks- 
giving, and  the  place  the  Academy  of  Music, 
Brooklyn. 

On  the  night  of  the  performance  I  went  to 
the  dressing-room  on  the  stage,  the  one  which 
I  had  occupied  on  every  previous  occasion 
when  I  had  played  at  that  house.  I  found  Mr. 
Rignold's  servant  in  possession.  Feeling  quite 
231 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

sure  that  this  was  through  some  mistake  on  the 
part  of  the  man,  I  sent  to  Mr.  Rignold  to 
inquire.  My  surmise  was  correct,  and  Mr. 
Rignold  promptly  placed  the  dressing-room  at 
my  disposal. 

But  when  I  next  saw  Charles  Thorne  I  was 
overwhelmed  with  the  assurances  of  his  admira- 
tion and  approval  for  the  stand  which  I  had 
taken  in  forcibly  ejecting  the  burly  British 
Thespian  from  his  stronghold  in  the  disputed 
dressing-room, —  whether  at  the  point  of  the 
sword  or  with  a  broom,  I  was  not  informed. 

In  vain  I  protested  that  nothing  of  the  sort 
had  occurred.  Thorne  had  his  own  version 
of  the  circumstance,  which  had  really  been  no 
circumstance  at  all.  But  it  was  a  good  story, 
and  I  was  covered  with  partisan  and  patriotic 
glory  which  I  in  no  way  merited. 

About  this  time  I  decided  to  go  on  a  starring 
tour  in  preference  to  remaining  longer  at  the 
Union  Square;  but  Mr.  Palmer  was  very  averse 
to  my  withdrawing  from  his  theatre,  and,  as 
an  inducement  for  me  to  remain,  he  offered 
to  secure  a  piece  in  which  I  should  play  the 

232 


JOHN  PARSELLE 

title-role,  and  which,  at  the  end  of  its  New  York 
run,  I  could  use  as  a  vehicle  in  starring. 

After  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  and  delay, 
"Rose  Michel' '  was  settled  upon.  The  next 
step  was  to  obtain  a  good  translation  and 
adaptation  of  the  play.  Several  versions  were 
made,  but  not  approved,  until  at  last  Steele 
Mackaye  essayed  the  work,  and  his  version 
was  accepted. 

Then  began  the  rehearsals.  Steele  Mackaye 
conducted  them.  Thorne  played  the  young 
hero,  the  Count  de  Vernay,  and  John  Parselle 
played  the  Baron  de  Marsan. 

Parselle  was  a  very  valuable  actor,  but  by 
no  means  a  brilliant  one.  He  was  a  handsome 
old  man,  with  a  fine  manner  and  a  dignified 
bearing,  and  he  had  an  excellent  quality  in 
an  actor, —  a  knack  of  wearing  the  costume 
of  the  period  of  any  play  in  which  he  might 
be  cast,  as  if  he  had  worn  that  particular  style 
of  dress  all  his  life.  The  stately  garments  of 
the  period  of  Louis  XV  suited  him  admirably, 
and  he  presented  a  most  picturesque  and  dig- 
nified picture.  He  had  passed  his  novitiate 
in  the  theatres  of  London  and  Edinburgh,  and 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

had  the  additional  advantage  of  being  thorough- 
ly familiar  with  the  French  stage.  He  was  a 
great  stickler  for  the  etiquette  of  the  stage,  and 
for  a  strict  adherence  to  its  traditions. 

Thorne  was  a  social  and  dramatic  iconoclast, 
and  he  had  no  respect  for  either  etiquette  or 
tradition.  His  great  scene  occurred  in  the 
third  act, —  indeed  the  scene  had  been  written 
especially  for  him, —  and  in  its  setting  there 
appeared  a  small  desk  and  one  particular  chair, 
which  were  used  by  Thorne. 

Although  Parselle  did  not  use  either  of  these 
articles  of  furniture,  he  argued  that  their  place 
on  the  stage  had  a  very  important  bearing  on 
his  "business"  in  the  scene.  Morning  after 
morning,  at  precisely  the  same  juncture,  there 
would  occur  between  Thorne  and  Parselle, 
with  many  and  various  changes  of  language, 
precisely  the  same  argument.  Thorne  would 
have  the  chair  here;  Parselle  would  have  it 
there.  Each  would  claim,  from  his  own  stand- 
point, that  his  was  the  only  just  demand.  As 
Thorne  grew  warm,  Parselle  grew  cool,  and  I 
cannot  recall  that  the  burning  question  was  ever 
settled.  Up  to  the  very  first  performance,  and 
234 


STEELE  MACKAYE 

even  after,  the  quarrel  was  resumed  nightly, 
with  no  perceptible  result  that  I  ever  discovered, 
except  to  afford  me  many  a  sly  smile. 

The  rehearsals  of  "Rose  Michel"  were  more 
heavy  and  serious  than  had  been  those  of  "Led 
Astray,"  and  as  Dion  Boucicault  had  directed 
the  rehearsals  of  the  latter  play,  so  Steele  Mack- 
aye  directed  those  of  the  former. 

Steele  Mackaye  was  a  man  of  extraordinary 
and  exceptional  brilliancy,  and  among  the 
multiplicity  of  subjects  to  which  he  had  given 
attention,  the  drama  held  a  leading  place. 
He  was  a  master  of  all  dramatic  work,  and,  as 
an  ardent  disciple  of  Delsarte  it  was  he  who 
introduced  the  Delsarte  system  into  the  United 
States.  He  thoroughly  understood  the  art  of 
acting,  but  he  could  not  act. 

This  fact  was  demonstrated  many  times;  as 
a  matter  of  fact  it  was  very  clearly  manifested 
every  time  he  went  upon  the  stage;  but  I  am 
convinced  that  it  was  a  fact  of  which  he  him- 
self had  no  suspicion,  and,  although  failure 
inevitably  followed  his  every  attempt  to  act, 
I  do  not  believe  that  he  ever  for  one  moment 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

attributed  those  misfortunes  to  his  own  ineffec- 
tive work. 

One  of  the  most  signal  of  these  failures  was 
his  endeavour  in  London,  to  play  the  leading 
part  in  Tom  Taylor's  drama  of  "Arkright's 
Wife." 

Tom  Taylor  and  Steele  Mackaye  were  warm 
friends,  and  Taylor  was  greatly  pleased  when 
negotiations  were  completed  which  brought 
about  this  result.  Now,  at  last,  Taylor  was 
about  to  enjoy  the  satisfaction,  so  dear  to  the 
dramatist,  of  seeing  all  his  ideas  realised  and 
carried  out  to  the  very  minutest  detail. 

The  first  performance  found  Taylor  early 
in  his  place  in  the  stalls,  eager  with  anticipative 
delight.  Mackaye  began  his  work.  As  the 
first  act  proceeded,  Taylor's  face  began  to 
lengthen,  and  he  projected  himself  farther  and 
farther  forward  in  his  chair,  quite  oblivious  of 
the  backward  glances  of  annoyance  that  were 
being  flashed  at  him  by  the  occupant  of  the 
stall  immediately  in  front  of  him. 

The  longer  Mackaye  went  on,  the  deeper  and 
darker  grew  Taylor's  vexation  and  disappoint- 
ment ;  and  the  more  vexed  he  became,  the  more 


MACKAYE'S  STAGE  DIRECTION 

unconsciously  he  flung  himself  forward,  until 
he  was  seen  to  be  merely  hanging  on  to  the 
back  of  the  chair  in  front  of  him,  and  was  heard 
to  mutter  in  gruesome,  grinding  tones:  "Idiot! 
Idiot!  purblind,  doddering  idiot!" 

But  while  it  must  be  confessed  that  Steele 
Mackaye  could  not  act  himself,  he  knew  all 
about  acting,  and  his  stage  direction  was  most 
masterly.  He  was  very  nervous  and  excitable. 
So  was  I.  I  had  made  a  close  study  of  the  part 
of  Rose  Michel;  in  fact  I  had  devoted  myself 
to  it  so  closely  that  I  became  in  a  way  perme- 
ated with  it. 

At  some  crucial  moment  in  a  scene  Mackaye 
would  interrupt  me,  a  circumstance  which  for 
the  time  would  chill  my  enthusiasm  and  paral- 
yse my  efforts.  While  we  were  both,  of  course, 
working  up  to  one  end,  we  were,  of  necessity, 
working  on  parallel  lines,  and  therefore  it  was 
not  possible  for  us  to  meet  at  any  point.  This 
condition  of  things  led  to  friction  between  us 
many  times.  There  came  a  day  when  a  crisis 
was  reached.  I  laid  the  part  upon  the  prompt- 
table,  and,  telling  Mackaye  that  as  it  was  im- 
possible for  both  of  us  to  play  the  part,  and  he 

237 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

did  not  seem  willing  to  permit  me  to  perform 
it,  I  thought  it  would  be  better  that  he  should 
play  it  himself, —  and  so  marched  off  the  stage. 

Before  I  had  time  to  leave  the  theatre  I  was 
"headed  off"  by  my  managers,  Messrs.  Shook 
&  Palmer.  Mackaye  was  sent  for,  and  we 
four  had  a  "pow-wow."  The  result  of  it  was 
that  Mackaye  bound  himself  not  to  interrupt 
the  rehearsals  with  corrections  or  suggestions 
to  me,  but  to  make  notes  of  anything  in  my 
work  of  which  he  did  not  approve,  and  submit 
them  to  me  afterward,  when  I  was  to  accept 
them,  or  give  him  good  and  sufficient  reasons  for 
not  doing  so. 

This  arrangement  was  strictly  adhered  to, 
but,  greatly  to  my  surprise,  there  were  no  notes, 
and  the  rehearsals  proceeded  rapidly  and 
smoothly. 

The  night  of  the  first  performance  I  was 
greatly  wrought  up.  Mackaye  was  in  a  stage- 
box.  I  knew  that  I  played  Rose  Michel  well. 
There  were  too  many  persons  who  said  so  then, 
and  who  have  said  so  since,  for  there  to  be 
any  doubt  about  the  matter;  but  I  also  know 
that  I  never  played  the  part  so  well  as  I  did 

238 


STEELE  MACK  AYE'S  NATURE 

at  that  first  performance.  But  Steele  Mack- 
aye's  was  the  first  individual  voice  which 
poured  into  my  eagerly  listening  ears  the  liba- 
tion of  praise  for  which  my  soul  was  thirsting. 
At  the  close  of  the  second  act,  after  I  had 
said  "Thank  you"  many  times  to  my  great 
body  of  friends  in  front,  as  I  left  the  stage  I 
found  him  awaiting  me  in  the  entrance.  There 
he  stood, — 

—  "all  his  visage  wanned, 
Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in  's  aspect, 
A  broken  voice/'  — 

and  with  both  hands  held  out  to  me  he  said: 
"Can  you  ever  forgive  me  for  ever  having  pre- 
sumed to  offer  you  a  suggestion?" 

I  tell  this  incident,  not  in  order  that  I  may 
vindicate  my  claim  to  a  better  understanding 
of  the  character  of  Rose  Michel  than  his  had 
been,  but  as  a  tribute  to  the  nobility  and  gen- 
erosity of  Steele  Mackaye's  nature. 

That  same  night  I  received  another  testi- 
monial to  the  worth  of  my  performance,  but  of 
quite  a  different  sort.  The  third  act  of  "Rose 
Michel"  is  the  Count  de  Vernay's.  As  a  mat- 

239 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

ter  of  fact  it  was  arranged  to  placate  Thorne 
and  to  give  him  an  opportunity  for  a  strong 
scene  as  I  have  stated  above.  At  first  the  in- 
tention was  to  leave  me  out  of  the  act,  an  ar- 
rangement to  which  I  gave  my  heartiest  assent, 
for  it  would  have  given  me  time  to  rest,  and 
"pull  myself  together"  for  the  two  last  acts. 
Later,  however,  it  was  decided  that  I  should 
appear  in  this  act,  but  with  very  little  to  do; 
I  was  merely  to  come  on  for  a  brief  scene  at 
the  beginning  and  be  on  for  the  curtain  at  the 
end.  I  saw  a  possibility  for  some  very  effec- 
tive work  in  this  entrance,  though  I  had  nothing 
to  say.  I  availed  myself  of  this  opportunity. 
At  the  end  of  the  act  Thorne  looked  gloomily 
at  me,  and  said  in  rueful  tones,  "It's  no  use, 
she  hogged  the  whole  persimmon!" 


240 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

STARRING —  BUYING  EXPERIENCE  —  THE  WEST — BEN  DE 
BAR  —  "BOB"  MILES  — MRS.  JOHN  DREW  —  THE  LITH- 
OGRAPH QUESTION  —  A  SANDWICH  MAN 

AT  the  close  of  the  run  of  "Rose  Michel"  at 
the  Union  Square  Theatre  —  it  lasted  about 
half  a  year  —  I  went  starring  with  the  piece, 
and  never  did  wight  embark  upon  an  enter- 
prise worse  equipped  and  less  fitted  to  carry  it 
to  successful  issue  than  was  I.  I  am  sorry  to 
be  obliged  to  confess  that  I  am  —  always  have 
been,  and,  I  fear,  always  will  be  —  a  very  poor 
business  woman.  I  know  nothing  of  figures 
but  figures  of  speech. 

With  the  exception  of  some  intermittent 
weeks  some  years  previously,  I  had  had  no 
experience  of  starring,  and  at  that  time  I  had 
not  been  called  upon  to  look  after  any  details 
of  the  business.  Augustin  Daly,  then  himself 
a  young  manager,  had  always  taken  entire 
charge  of  the  business.  All  that  I  had  ever 
been  called  upon  to  do  was  to  go  to,  at  the  ap- 
pointed time,  the  city  and  the  theatre  in  which 

241 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

the  engagement  was  to  be  played,  rehearse  the 
piece  with  the  regular  stock  company,  play  my 
own  part,  and  at  the  close  of  the  engagement 
receive  from  Mr.  Daly  a  nice  little  pot  of  money. 

Therefore  in  this,  my  first  independent  busi- 
ness, and  one  in  which  I  was  thrown  entirely 
upon  myself,  I  was  victimised  on  every  hand, 
and  by  nearly  every  one  with  whom  my  busi- 
ness relations  brought  me  in  contact.  I  had 
about  me  only  strangers,  and  they  were  all 
far  too  busy  looking  out  for  opportunities  to 
advance  their  own  interests  to  devote  any  time 
or  thought  to  mine.  I  was  so  entirely  ignorant 
of  all  the  details  of  starring  that  I  did  not  even 
know  what  percentages  I  had  a  right  to  de- 
mand, and  so  I  went  groping  and  stumbling  on, 
buying  my  experience,  and  paying  for  it  at  a 
pretty  high  figure. 

Notwithstanding  all  these  crippling  circum- 
stances, however,  my  tour  with  "Rose  Michel" 
was  very  successful  in  both  an  artistic  and  a 
pecuniary  sense.  At  the  end  of  the  season  I 
was  not  only  many  thousands  of  dollars  richer 
in  money,  but  far,  far  richer  in  recognition  of 
artistic  merit  and  in  admirers  of  my  work.  I 

242 


STARRING 

was  pleased,  too,  with  the  opportunity  afforded 
me  by  my  travelling,  of  seeing  my  own  country. 
Up  to  this  time  I  had  never  been  farther  West 
than  Buffalo  and  Canada,  and  the  bustling, 
rushing,  hurrying  cities  and  towns  of  the  great 
West  filled  me  with  wonder  and  admiration, — 
a  wonder  and  an  admiration  that  have  increased 
with  years  and  experience.  Since  that  first 
Western  journey  I  have  crossed  the  Atlantic 
many  times  and  have  lived  in  Europe,  but  my 
experience  of  other  lands  has  only  increased 
my  patriotic  love  of  my  own,  and  I  always  feel 
thankful  for  the  inestimable  boon  of  being  an 
American  woman. 

During  this  my  first  starring  season  I  met  a 
few  of  the  old  representative  actor-managers. 
One  of  these  was  Ben  De  Bar,  then  managing 
his  own  theatre  in  St.  Louis.  Both  poor  De 
Bar  and  his  theatre  were  at  this  time  falling 
somewhat  into  desuetude,  and  but  for  the 
energy  infused  into  the  business  by  John  Nor- 
ton, who  was  at  this  time  De  Bar's  stage-mana- 
ger, things  would  have  gone  ill  indeed  with 
both  theatre  and  visiting  stars. 

243 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

The  stock  company  was  extremely  poor,  and 
when,  in  a  talk  with  De  Bar,  in  the  course  of 
which  I  was  pretty  severe  in  my  criticism  of 
some  of  its  members,  the  old  man  scratched  his 
head,  looked  ruefully  at  me,  and  said:  "Well, 
what  is  a  manager  to  do?  Somebody  must 
have  these  people."  I  learned  the  secret  of  the 
downfall  of  De  Bar's  Theatre  and  the  dissipa- 
tion of  its  owner's  fortunes.  He  allowed  his 
heart  to  rule  his  head. 

Another  old-time  manager  whom  I  met 
during  that  season  was  R.  E.  G.  Miles,  better 
known  as  "Bob"  Miles,  of  Cincinnati.  He, 
too,  was  a  great-hearted,  genial,  good-tempered 
man,  the  friend  of  his  actors;  indeed,  in  those 
days  of  the  actor-manager  there  was  a  free- 
masonry of  friendship  and  comradeship  be- 
tween manager  and  company  which  would 
be  impossible  to  find  in  these  days  of  syndicate 
and  speculator. 

During  this  season,  and  for  several  following 

seasons,  I  played  at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre, 

Philadelphia,  under  the  management  of  Mrs. 

John  Drew.    It  was,  without  exception,  the 

244 


THE  LITHOGRAPH  QUESTION 

best-conducted,  cleanest,  most  orderly  and 
most  all-around  comfortable  theatre  that  I  ever 
acted  in.  Of  Mrs.  Drew  herself,  eulogy  from 
me  is  not  necessary.  She  was  a  woman  whom 
it  was  an  honour  for  a  fellow- woman  to  call  a 
friend. 

It  was  during  an  engagement  at  Mrs.  John 
Drew's  theatre  that  I  was  brought  face  to  face 
with  the  lithograph  question.  The  stage  en- 
trance was,  as  is  the  case  with  the  majority  of 
theatres,  up  a  dark  and  more  or  less  noisome 
alley,  on  which  opened  the  side  entrance  to  a 
drinking-place.  As  I  was  passing  up  this  alley- 
way the  first  evening  of  my  engagement,  I  was 
greeted  by  the  sight  of  my  pictured  face  looking 
down  upon  me  from  the  window  of  the  afore- 
said "shebeen."  Filled  with  indignation  and 
disgust,  I  at  once  sent  for  my  business  manager. 
He  had  not  yet  arrived.  Some  one  about  the 
theatre  mentioned  to  Mrs.  Drew  that  I  was 
evidently  much  disturbed  about  something, 
and  she  came  to  my  dressing-room  to  inquire 
about  the  matter.  On  being  told,  she  drew 
her  chair  in  front  of  me,  sat  down,  looked  at 
me  with  her  calm,  quizzical  expression,  and 

245 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

said:  "My  dear,  don't  be  a  fool ;  we  will  all  be 
obliged  to  come  to  it,  and  God  knows  where 
we  will  next  see  ourselves  pictured.  But  wher- 
ever it  may  be,  we  will  have  to  submit." 

I  remember  with  much  pleasure  the  produc- 
tion of  "Rose  Michel"  as  arranged  by  Mrs. 
Drew  at  her  theatre.  The  third  act  of  the 
piece  represents  the  salon  of  a  ducal  chateau 
of  the  period  of  Louis  XV.  The  hangings  of 
the  scenes  and  the  covering  of  the  various 
couches,  divans,  and  chairs  were  of  pale  blue, 
covered  with  white  lace.  Every  article  of 
furniture  was  of  white  and  gold,  and  strictly 
correct  as  to  period.  And  I  may  mention, 
as  an  evidence  of  her  excellent  management, 
that  all  this  furniture  was  made  in  the  property- 
room  of  the  theatre,  and  the  apparently  rich 
lace  used  for  the  hangings  was  picked  out  from 
old  lace  curtains  that  from  time  to  time  had 
been  retired  from  active  service. 

On  more  than  one  occasion  I  found  that 
being  a  star  and  at  the  head  of  one's  own  com- 
pany carried  with  it  many  cares,  responsibili- 
246 


THE  SANDWICH  MAN 

ties,  and  annoyances  that  made  life  much 
harder  than  it  was  to  be  a  member  of  a  well- 
ordered,  regular  stock  company  in  a  metropol- 
itan theatre. 

But  it  was  not  all  work  and  no  play.  Indeed 
it  would  go  hard  with  me  if  I  could  not  find 
occasional  oases  of  fun  while  threading  my  way 
through  the  desert  of  daily  work. 

One  night,  during  a  most  touching  scene 
between  Rose  Michel  and  her  young  daughter, 
a  scene  in  which  both  audience  and  myself 
usually  mingled  our  tears,  I  was  from  time  to 
time  disturbed,  and  greatly  surprised,  to  find 
myself  interrupted  by  ripples  of  laughter, 
Holding  myself  as  well  in  hand  as  was  possible, 
I  tried  to  continue  the  scene,  but  a  pretty  simul- 
taneous peal  of  laughter,  a  little  louder  than 
any  which  had  preceded  it,  sent  me  all  to  pieces. 
I  raised  my  eyes  and  looked  into  the  audience 
to  try  to  discover  the  cause  of  this  ill-timed 
mirth.  I  found  it.  Sitting  conspicuously  in 
the  middle  of  the  orchestra  was  a  redundantly 
stout  person,  who  for  his  greater  ease  had  re- 
moved his  coat  and  waistcoat.  He,  at  least, 
was  paying  full  tribute  to  the  pathos  of  the 

247 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

scene;  his  face  was  a  picture  of  woe,  great 
tears  were  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  and  they 
fell  where  they  listed,  for  both  his  hands  were 
occupied  holding  an  immense  sandwich,  which 
at  frequent  intervals  he  lifted  to  his  mouth. 
As  he  helped  himself  to  a  huge  bite,  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  decide  which  he  enjoyed 
most, —  his  sorrow  or  his  sandwich.  Need  I 
say  that  my  sorrow  was  for  the  time  quite  for- 
gotten ? — and  I  joined  in  the  general  mirth,  and 
the  scene  was  brought  to  an  abrupt  conclusion. 

I  remember  at  this  moment  a  thing  which 
my  business  manager  told  me,  showing  a  rather 
quaint  form  for  admiration  to  take.  After  the 
manner  of  business  managers  he  was  standing 
in  the  "front"  as  the  audience  filed  out  after 
a  matinee,  and  overheard  this  bit  of  dialogue: 

Mother  (an  old  lady). —  I  never  want  to  see  that  ac- 
tress, Rose  Ey tinge,  again. 

Daughter  (an  elderly  woman). —  Why,  mother,  you 
said  you  liked  her. 

Mother. —  I  do!  I  love  her.  She  is  a  great  actress. 
But I've  got  trouble  enough  at  home. 


248 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  CALIFORNIA  THEATRE,  SAN  FRANCISCO  —  JOHN  MC- 
CULLOUGH  —JULIA— LADY  MA CBETH—CAMILLE—M\KY 
ANDERSON  —  "  EAST  LYNNE  " 

AT  the  close  of  my  regular  season  I  conceived 
a  rather  wild  scheme  to  play  "across  country." 
I  was  under  engagement  to  play  a  four  weeks' 
starring  engagement  at  the  California  Theatre, 
San  Francisco,  under  the  management  of  John 
McCullough,  opening,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
in  August.  My  supporting  company  was  to 
continue  with  me  to  some  point  west  of  the 
Mississippi  River,  after  which  I  was  to  pro- 
ceed alone  to  San  Francisco,  breaking  my 
journey  with  a  two  weeks'  engagement  at  Salt 
Lake  City. 

My  four  weeks  in  San  Francisco  was  a  de- 
lightful experience  in  every  particular.  The 
theatre  was  as  nearly  perfect  as  it  is  possible 
to  imagine,  equipped  with  everything  in  scen- 
ery, properties,  wardrobe,  etc.,  that  the  most 

249 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

exacting  star  could  demand,  and  I  can  say  with 
truth  that  I  was  by  no  means  an  exacting  star. 
The  company  was  of  exceptional  brilliancy  as 
to  ability,  and  most  complete  in  numbers. 

During  those  four  weeks  I  played  several 
important  parts  for  the  first  time,  among  them 
being  Julia  in  "The  Hunchback,"  and  Lady 
Macbeth.  Of  Julia,  as  I  played  it,  I  remember 
John  McCullough  was  greatly  enamoured,  and 
on  this  occasion,  breaking  through  his  rule  not 
to  support  any  woman  star,  he  played  Sir 
Thomas  Clifford.  He  pronounced  Julia  my 
best  part.  (Lester  Wallack  had  thus  commend- 
ed my  Juliana,  in  the  comedy  of  "The  Honey- 
moon.") 

The  night  I  played  Lady  Macbeth  for  the 
first  time  I  was  very  nervous;  indeed,  I  had  a 
pretty  severe  attack  of  stage  fright,  and  I  had 
so  little  confidence  in  my  own  memory  that  in 
the  banquet  scene  I  had  a  young  member  of 
the  company  ensconced  behind  my  throne- 
chair,  armed  with  a  book  of  the  play,  prepared 
to  give  me  the  word  if  I  needed  it. 

Camille  was  another  part  which  I  played 
for  the  first  time  during  this  engagement,  and 
250 


"EAST   LYNNE" 

each  performance  was  more  easy  and  pleasant 
than  the  last. 

My  four  weeks7  work  at  the  regular  starring 
terms  of  the  theatre  netted  me  many  thousands 
of  dollars,  and  at  its  close  I  stopped  in  San 
Francisco  long  enough  to  form  a  company  with 
which  to  go  to  Virginia  City. 

This  brief  stay  led  to  my  playing  Lady  Isabel 
in  "East  Lynne"  for  the  first  time.  It  happened 
this  way :  Mary  Anderson,  then  slowly  emerging 
from  her  chrysalis  stage  of  amateur,  was  to 
follow  me,  being  booked  for  a  two  weeks'  en- 
gagement. If  I  remember  aright,  she  opened 
with  Juliet,  following,  I  think,  with  Evadne. 
But  after  two  or  three  performances  she  fell 
ill,  and  her  engagement  was  brought  to  an  abrupt 
conclusion. 

In  those  days  San  Francisco  was  not  the 
theatrical  centre  it  has  since  grown  to  be,  and 
this  disarrangement  of  dates  meant  a  "dark 
house"  for  about  ten  nights.  In  this  dilemma 
McCullough  suggested  to  me  a  week's  re-en- 
gagement, which  I  declined.  He  then  urged 
me  to  play  one  night,  and  suggested  "East 
Lynne"  as  the  bill.  When  I  told  him  I  knew 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

nothing  of  the  piece,  had  never  even  seen  it 
(a  perfectly  true  statement),  he  promptly  and 
sternly  refused  to  credit  so  altogether  improbable 
a  statement,  and  the  position  taken  by  Mc- 
Cullough  was  held  by  every  member  of  the 
company.  When  I  repeated,  with  every  form 
of  emphasis  at  my  command,  that  I  had  never 
seen  "East  Lynne,"  they  jeered  at  me  and 
laughed  me  out  of  court. 

So,  despite  my  protests,  the  announcements 
were  made  that  "in  compliance  with  a  universal 
request"  I  would  play  Lady  Isabel.  But  now 
a  veritable  crisis  arose.  We  could  not  find  a 
book  of  the  piece.  While  every  member  of 
the  company  "knew  the  piece  backward,"  it 
was  very  soon  learned  that  none  of  them  knew 
it  forward,  and  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do 
but  to  "vamp"  the  part  as  well  as  I  could;  and 
when  I  turned  reproachfully  to  McCullough 
and  appealed  for  sympathy  and  help,  he  said, 
with  a  fine  appearance  of  confidence,  "O, 
that'll  be  all  right;  just  sob,  and  look  sorry,  and 
it  will  go." 

Thomas  Keene  played  Archibald  Carlisle, 
and  from  scene  to  scene  he  would,  in  language 
252 


STAGE   INSTRUCTION 

more  direct  than  didactic,  instruct  me  as  to  the 
particular  form  of  emotion  that  was  supposed 
to  hold  Isabel  in  its  thrall,  as,  "Now  she's  a 
jealous  cat";  "Now  she's  kitteny";  "Now 
she's  sorry  she  was  such  a  fool,  and  'gets  back' 
at  the  other  fellow" ;  "Now  she  wants  her  young 
ones";  and  "Now  she  ups  and  dies."  And 
from  such  instruction,  more  or  less  fully  elab- 
orated, I  played  Lady  Isabel  to  a  crowded  house, 
which  exhibited  every  indication  of  satisfac- 
tion at  the  performance,  and  I  received  from 
McCullough  a  clear  half  of  the  receipts  and 
much  praise. 

I  have  assumed  the  character  occasionally 
since,  and  to  my  shame  I  confess  that  I  have 
never  succeeded  in  playing  it  letter-perfect. 
I  remember  performing  it  once  under  the  man- 
agement of  William  Henderson,  who  was  one 
of  our  old  representative  actor-managers.  Af- 
ter the  performance  Mr.  Henderson  came  to 
my  dressing-room  for  a  chat.  I  felt  a  little 
uneasy  as  to  what  he  might  have  to  say  about 
my  version  of  the  piece,  but  to  my  great  sur- 
prise and  corresponding  relief  he  expressed 
very  great  pleasure  at  my  performance.  After 
253 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

a  thoughtful  pause  he  said:  "What  strikes  me 
with  surprise  is,  when  you  give  so  fine  a  per- 
formance of  the  part,  that  you  never  took  the 
trouble  to  study  the  lines." 


254 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

VIRGINIA  CITY  —  AN  AUDIENCE  OF  MINERS  —  A  MIDNIGHT 
RIDE  WITH  A  GUARD  OF  HONOUR —  DOWN  IN  A  SILVER 

MINE 

AT  the  close  of  my  engagement  at  the  California 
Theatre,  San  Francisco,  I  went  to  Virginia  City, 
Nevada,  taking  with  me  a  company  which  was 
largely  selected  from  members  of  the  stock 
company  of  the  California  Theatre,  Mr.  Mc- 
Cullough  being  willing  that  they  should  go,  and 
they  wishing  to  do  so. 

Oh,  that  Virginia  City!  It  was  then  a  mere 
mining-camp,  consisting  of  one  long  street 
levelled  out  from  the  mountain-side.  The 
houses  which  lined  this  thoroughfare  closely 
on  either  side  were  of  wood  and  one  story  high. 
They  were  all  glass-fronted  business  houses, 
and  the  business  to  which  a  heavy  majority 
of  them  appeared  to  be  devoted  was  the  sale 
of  liquor.  Indeed,  the  population  of  the  town 
seemed  to  take  most  of  its  nourishment  in 
liquid  form,  for  of  more  simple  and  solid  sorts 

255 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

of  food  there  was  little  or  none  exposed  for  sale. 
The  business  of  the  town  also  seemed  to  in- 
clude the  public  playing  of  all  sorts  of  games 
of  chance.  As  one  passed  along  it  was  common 
to  see  in  these  places  —  for  the  doors  were  all 
wide  open  —  great  piles  of  gold  and  silver, 
sometimes  in  coin,  often  in  its  crude  state, 
heaped  up  on  the  small  tables  with  which  the 
places  were  filled,  and  around  which  could  be 
found  seated,  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night, 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  playing,  play- 
ing, playing. 

The  hotel  was  most  primitive  in  its  arrange- 
ments, the  theatre  more  so.  But  the  spirit  of 
Midas  might  have  presided  over  the  place,  for 
everywhere  there  was  gold.  Nevertheless  the 
men  of  that  rude  mountain  mining-camp  could 
have  taught  their  brothers  in  the  capitals  of 
the  world  the  fine  art  of  chivalrous,  courtly, 
respectful  bearing  to  women. 

The  distance  between  the  hotel  and  the 
theatre  measured  not  more  than  one  of  our 
city  blocks.  Along  and  up  and  down  this 
little  line  of  street,  on  my  way  to  and  from 
performances  and  rehearsals,  I  passed  many 

256 


AN   AUDIENCE   OF   MINERS 

times,  and  at  any  time  from  midday  to  midnight, 
and  that  same  little  journey  was  always  marked 
by  the  reverent  courtesy  that  might  have  been 
bestowed  upon  a  queen  on  her  progress  to  her 
coronation.  If,  as  was  the  common  custom, 
a  group  of  smoking,  spitting,  swearing  men 
filled  the  small  sidewalk,  at  my  approach  every 
pipe  and  cigar  was  for  the  moment  relieved  from 
active  service.  Every  man  uncovered,  and  in 
a  pause  of  respectful  silence  I  passed  through 
a  line  of  men,  every  one  of  whom  was,  I  know, 
my  faithful  adherent. 

Of  this  faithful  adherence  I  had,  during  my 
brief  stay  among  them,  more  than  one  proof. 
For  instance,  one  night  there  was  a  disturbance 
in  the  audience  which  momentarily  interrupted 
the  performance  during  one  of  my  good  scenes. 
My  business  manager  was  in  front,  and  a  man 
standing  beside  him  took  from  his  belt,  which 
formed  no  small  armament,  a  revolver,  and  of- 
fered it  to  my  manager,  saying,  "Pepper  the 
!  how  dare  he  interrupt  the  lady!" 

At  the  time  I  write  of  there  was  but  one 
daily  train  between  New  York  and  San  Fran- 
cisco. The  train  going  east  passed  through 
257 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

Reno — which  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain — 
at  some  wretched  hour  about  dawn.  Virginia 
City  was  at,  or  nearly  at,  the  mountain  top, 
and  was  reached  by  a  single-track  railroad, 
which  also  ran  one  train  either  way  once  in 
every  twenty-four  hours.  The  usual  thing  for 
travellers  going  east  from  Virginia  City  was  to 
take  this  train  in  the  evening,  reach  Reno, 
distant  about  twenty-four  or  twenty-five  miles, 
in  a  couple  of  hours,  spend  the  night  at  the 
"hotel"  at  Reno,  and  be  ready  to  board  the 
east-bound  train  as  it  passed  through  in  the 
morning.  This  train  did  not  run  Sundays; 
therefore,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
my  engagement  closing  Saturday  night,  I  would 
be  obliged  to  remain  all  Sunday  in  Virginia 
City,  and  not  catch  the  eastern  train  until 
Monday  morning. 

This  loss  of  time  was  peculiarly  distressing, 
as  time  just  then  was  of  great  value  to  me. 
On  enquiry  I  discovered  that  the  mine-owners 
were  in  the  habit  of  sending  trains  of  pack- 
mules,  loaded  with  panniers  of  ore,  down  the 
mountain.  So  down  that  mountain-side  I 
determined  to  go  on  Saturday  night  after  the 

258 


A   MIDNIGHT    RIDE 

close  of  my  last  performance,  and  be  in  Reno 
in  time  to  catch  my  train  Sunday  morning  in- 
stead of  Monday,  thus  saving  twenty-four  hours. 
It  was  necessary  to  be  very  secret  in  my  prep- 
arations, since  the  patrons  of  the  theatre,  who 
represented  about  the  entire  population  of  the 
town,  were  very  jealous  of  their  rights  and 
would  have  resented  very  bitterly  any  cutting 
of  the  performance.  But  everything  worked 
admirably.  Tickets  for  my  business  manager 
and  myself  were  secured  for  the  Saturday 
evening  train,  and  all  my  trunks  went  down 
on  that,  except  the  one  containing  my  wardrobe 
for  Saturday  night.  A  phaeton  with  a  fine 
pair  of  horses  and  a  driver  who  knew  the  road 
were  engaged,  and  at  about  midnight  we  started. 
I  had  with  me  a  goodly  amount  of  diamonds,  and 
I  had  also  my  week's  receipts  in  gold  and  silver 
in  bags.  The  night  was  dark,  but  we  were 
provided  with  a  lantern.  The  driver,  with  a 
Winchester  rifle  across  his  knees,  sat  in  front; 
my  business  manager  and  I  on  the  back  seat, 
our  treasure  at  our  feet,  and  loaded  revolvers 
in  our  hands.  The  cool,  solemn  silence,  after 
the  garish  light  and  rude  revelry  we  had  left 

259 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

behind,  penetrated  one's  soul.  Of  fear  I  had 
not  one  impulse ;  the  only  feeling  I  experienced 
was  one  of  peace,  of  perfect  rest.  Not  a  sound 
disturbed  the  air  except  the  occasional  cry  of 
some  night-bird,  or  some  four-footed  denizen 
of  the  sage-brush.  Occasionally,  however,  a 
solitary  figure  would  loom  up  out  of  the  dark- 
ness and  disappear.  In  the  cool,  clear  dawn  we 
reached  Reno,  and  were  soon  whirling  toward 
the  East. 

At  a  little  station  a  few  miles  from  Reno  I 
received  a  touching  and  convincing  proof  of 
the  loyalty  of  the  friends  I  had  made  in  Virginia 
City.  A  letter  was  handed  to  me,  bidding  me 
good-bye  and  expressing  every  good  wish,  and 
signed 

"THE  BOYS  WHO  PATROLLED  YOUR  RIDE 
TO  RENO." 

That  explained  the  presence  of  the  shadowy 
figures  I  had  from  time  to  time  seen  loom  up 
through  the  darkness. 

While  I  was  in  Virginia  City  my  courage  was 
260 


DOWN   IN   A   SILVER  MINE 

submitted  to  a  severe  test.  The  great  " Cali- 
fornia and  Ophir  Mine"  (I  think  it  was  called) 
was  in  full  operation,  yielding  almost  fabulous 
amounts  of  ore.  Archibald  Boland,  familiarly 
known  as  " Archie"  Boland,  was  the  super- 
intendent of  the  mine;  and  one  of  the  many 
courtesies  which  he  extended  to  me  was  an  in- 
vitation to  go  down  the  mine.  What  with  long 
rehearsals  and  the  many  demands  upon  my  time 
I  found  that  I  could  not  manage  this  excursion 
during  the  day.  So  it  was  decided  that  the 
descent  should  be  made  some  night  after  the 
performance. 

It  was  a  glorious  moonlight  night  when  — 
in  a  man's  oil-skin  suit  —  I  stepped  into  the 
cage.  As  we  descended,  and  the  bright  moon, 
the  blue  sky,  and  the  shadowed  earth  passed 
from  my  gaze,  I  had  a  curious  sensation,  a 
mingling  of  curiosity  as  to  when,  if  ever,  I 
should  see  those  things  again.  Or  if  not,  what 
should  I  see  in  their  stead?  Of  fear  I  had 
none.  Mr.  Boland  accompanied  me,  and  —  as 
I  thought,  at  the  time,  unnecessarily  —  held 
my  two  wrists.  He  afterward  told  me  that 
his  object  in  doing  this  was  to  note  the  action 

261 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

of  my  pulse,  to  see  if  it  would  quicken  or  flutter 
with  fear,  but  it  remained  perfectly  steady. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  found  the  visit  very  in- 
teresting. We  went  to  the  level  which  they 
were  then  working,  some  2,000  feet  below  the 
surface  of  the  town,  and  we  saw  silver,  silver, 
silver,  everywhere  silver;  and  everywhere  men 
in  more  or  less  savage  undress  working,  and 
darkness  and  noise,  and  great  beams  overhead 
propping  up  the  walls  of  silver.  Hot,  dusty, 
thirsty,  tired,  we  again  mounted  the  cage  and 
reached  the  earth,  the  dear,  old,  familiar  earth, 
with  the  blue  sky  over  our  head  and  the  moon 
sailing  gloriously.  And  oh!  it  was  a  fine  sight, 
—  finer  than  all  the  silver  that  ever  was  dug 
out  of  the  earth. 


262 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

RENO  —  A      WESTERN      HOTEL  —  THE      RENO     THEATRE  — 
PURIFICATION 

ON  one  of  my  Western  tours  I  received  an 
urgent  letter  from  the  proprietor  of  the  theatre 
in  Reno  to  stop  a  few  days  in  that  town  and 
give  a  performance.  As  I  had  passed  through 
the  town  several  times  I  did  not  feel  any  special 
inclination  to  accept  this  proposition,  for  a  more 
unpromising  spot  for  any  form  of  art  to  flourish 
could  not  well  be  imagined. 

It  was  an  arid,  sandy  plain,  walled  in  by 
mountains,  treeless,  even  shrubless.  The  white 
heat  of  the  sun  beat  down  upon  white  sand. 
Dotted  about  at  irregular  intervals  were  un- 
sightly little  one-story  buildings  that  looked 
as  if  their  projectors  had  begun  to  erect  them, 
but,  on  taking  time  to  look  about  them  and 
observe  their  environments,  had  fled  in  horror 
and  haste,  lest  some  impelling  influence  should 
induce  them  to  stop  and  occupy  them. 

263 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

Straight  through  this  strip  of  plain  ran  the 
lines  of  iron  rail,  flanked  by  a  rude  platform 
and  the  various  sheds  pertaining  to  the  business 
of  the  railroad,  and  on  a  line  with  it  and  close 
to  the  track,  ingeniously  arranged  so  that  the 
sad  sojourner,  who  might  by  adverse  circum- 
stances be  compelled  to  stop  in  it,  might  not 
be  spared  a  single  clang  of  the  bell,  a  toot  of 
the  whistle,  or  a  grain  of  dust,  smoke  or  cinders, 
stood  the  "hotel." 

This  had  grown  to  the  dignity  of  two  stories. 
It  was  a  glaring-white,  square,  wooden  shed, 
with  innumerable  shutterless  windows  piercing 
it  on  every  side.  Nothing  could  be  more  un- 
promising of  rest  or  comfort  than  the  exterior 
of  this  building,  unless  it  was  its  interior. 

Of  anything  in  the  slightest  degree  like  a 
theatre,  hall,  or  lyceum,  or  of  anything  that 
held  out  hopes  of  entertainment  or  intellectual 
relaxation  in  any  form,  there  was  nothing 
visible. 

With  this  picture  fixed  in  my  mental  vision 

I  hesitated  to  close  with  the  offer  of  a  brief 

engagement  at  Reno.     But  in  the  end  greed 

prevailed.    I  believe  the  terms  I  asked  were 

264 


THE  RENO   THEATRE 

the  entire  receipts  and  my  fare  out  of  the  town, 
or  something  just  about  as  reasonable. 

I  forget  where  my  supporting  company  was 
to  come  from,  but,  as  I  recollect  their  work, 
they  ought  to  have  been  returned  to  the  spot 
from  whence  they  came,  and  never  to  have  been 
permitted  to  leave  it. 

Well,  I  went  to  Reno  to  play  one  night.  The 
first  thing  to  do  was  to  see  the  theatre.  I  went 
forth  in  search  of  it,  and  it  was  promptly  pointed 
out.  It  was  a  long,  narrow,  unpainted  wooden 
barn  with  a  wide  double  door  at  one  end,  and 
another  barn  tacked  onto  it  at  right  angles,  the 
first  being  the  auditorium,  the  second  the  stage. 

When  I  first  saw  this  structure  it  was  bare 
and  empty, —  empty,  that  is,  save  for  an  odour. 
Oh!  such  an  odour.  The  combined  essences 
of  Cologne  (the  town,  not  the  perfume),  the 
bay  of  Naples,  the  Roman  Ghetto,  the  —  the 

any,  any  malodorous  spot  that  can  be 

remembered  or  imagined,  cannot  convey  the 
faintest  idea  of  what  that  odour  was. 

After  the  first  overpowering  moment,  when, 
I  confess,  I  fled  before  it,  I  pursued  my  inves- 
tigation with  the  spirit  of  the  explorer  and 

265 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

the  pioneer,  determined  to  pursue  that  odour 
to  its  source;  for  I  knew  that  it  and  I  could 
not  both  occupy  that  temple  of  art  at  the  same 
time. 

By  this  time  I  found  myself  surrounded  by 
a  goodly  escort  of  small  boys,  and  I  called 
loudly  for  the  man  in  charge,  the  janitor.  A 
chorus  of  voices  came  to  my  rescue;  they  knew 
him,  they  would  find  him.  Meantime  we 
penetrated  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  build- 
ing, steadily  approaching  the  odour  and  being 
guided  by  it. 

At  the  end  of  the  auditorium  we  encountered 
three  or  four  steps.  These  led  up  to  the  stage, 
our  escort  swarming  up  with  us.  Suddenly 
the  air  was  rent  with  cries  of  triumph.  The 
janitor  was  found.  And  when  we  found  the 
janitor,  we  at  the  same  time  found  the  source 
of  the  odour. 

The  guardian  of  this  temple  of  the  fine  arts 
was  a  noble  red  man.  He  was  seated  in  a  large, 
comfortable,  leather-covered  arm-chair,  look- 
ing, with  its  air  of  civilisation,  as  incongruous 
with  its  surroundings  as  its  occupant  did  with 
it. 

266 


REMOVING  A  JANITOR 

My  first  act  was  to  take  steps  to  procure 
the  removal  of  the  janitor  and  his  surroundings, 
which  consisted  of  numerous  tin  cans  —  all 
empty;  a  high  hat,  much  dilapidated,  a  pair 
of  moccasins;  a  feather-duster  that  might  have 
been  intended  to  serve  on  festive  occasions 
for  a  head-dress;  and  various  other  mysterious 
articles  which  perhaps  were  important  details 
of  a  warrior's  wardrobe.  But  his  removal  from 
his  post,  which  he  was  vigorously  guarding 
when  we  rudely  interrupted  him  in  the  onerous 
discharge  of  his  duty,  was  no  easy  matter. 

My  self-appointed  bodyguard  sallied  forth 
into  the  town,  and  in  a  very  short  time  returned, 
reinforced  by  a  committee  of  prominent  citizens. 
It  required  much  eloquence  on  their  part,  not 
wholly  dissociated  from  more  active  measures, 
as  blowing  a  horn  in  his  ear,  pulling  his  arm- 
chair from  under  him,  and  playing  upon  him 
other  joyous  pranks,  to  suggest  to  him  the 
expediency  of  a  change  of  base.  But  the  most 
efficacious  method  was  hit  upon  when  every 
available  door  and  window  in  the  place  was 
thrown  open  to  admit  floods  of  glorious  sunshine 
and  breaths  of  balmy  air.  At  the  first  breath 

267 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

of  air  that  struck  him  he  opened  his  eyes, 
shrank  away  from  it,  grunted  his  disapproval 
of  such  heroic  measures,  and,  on  looking  about 
him  and  finding  himself  exposed  on  every  hand 
to  fresh  air  and  sunshine,  he  reluctantly  took 
his  departure,  followed  by  an  enthusiastic  if 
not  sympathetic  train  of  followers  bearing  his 
belongings. 

The  next  step  was  to  examine  the  dressing- 
rooms.  At  one  end  of  the'  barn  which  repre- 
sented the  theatre  there  was  a  door  on  which 
was  scrawled  "Star."  This,  on  examination, 
proved  to  be  fully  occupied:  one  half  by  coal, 
the  other  half  by  cans  of  coal-oil. 

I  think  the  most  impartial  and  easily  pleased 
jury  would  have  decided  that  these  arrange- 
ments were  not  calculated  to  increase  dramatic 
ardour. 

But  when  the  auditorium  was  swept  and 
sprinkled  with  clean  sand,  and  filled  with  a 
gradually  ascending  forest  of  trestles,  on  which 
were  extended  foot- wide  planks,  and  was  lighted 
by  clean  coal-oil  lamps,  it  looked  very  differ- 
ent. When  it  is  taken  into  consideration  that 
every  foot  of  those  foot-wide  planks  brought 

268 


PURIFICATION 

three  dollars  into  the  treasury,  its  crudities 
were  not  so  painful  to  the  senses.  Brooms 
and  buckets  of  water,  a  vigorous  scrubbing 
and  judicious  distribution  of  bolts  of  unbleached 
muslin  did  wonders  for  the  dressing-rooms. 


369 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

SEEKING  REST  AND  FINDING  NONE  —  "  WHY  DON'T  YOU 
GO  INTO  SOME  DECENT  BUSINESS?"  —  NEW-MOWN  HAY 
—  THE  PROPERTIES  OF  THE  RENO  THEATRE 

ALTHOUGH  in  my  various  pilgrimages  I  have 
found  many  places  in  many  parts  of  the  world 
which  provided  me  with  much  unrest,  yet  that 
town  of  Reno  is  marked  with  a  white  stone  in 
my  memory  as  having  given  me  an  ideal  and 
most  idyllic  rest,  albeit  under  somewhat  unusual 
circumstances. 

I  had  come  in  from  rehearsal  —  such  a  re- 
hearsal —  in  the  early  afternoon  of  the  day  on 
which  the  performance  was  to  be  given  — 
tired,  hot,  hungry,  and  with  a  severe  headache. 
A  glance  at  the  dining-room  —  a  long  white 
barn,  through  the  bare  windows  of  which  poured 
sun,  heat,  dust,  and  flies,  and  the  government 
of  which  was  administered  by  a  cabinet  of 
waiter-ladies  with  clicking  heels,  small  waists, 
short  aprons,  and  shorter  manners  —  sent  me 
dinnerless  to  my  room,  the  one  window  of  which, 
being  bare  also,  admitted  the  same  visitors  that 

270 


SEEKING   REST 

were  making  themselves  at  home  in  the  salle-a- 
manger. 

The  house  having  been  built  to  resemble 
as  closely  as  possible  a  penal  institution,  my 
room  was  one  of  a  row,  with  the  doors  opposite 
each  other,  in  a  long  passage  about  four  feet 
in  width,  and  in  the  doorway  opposite  to  mine 
there  sat  a  young  woman  in  a  rocking-chair. 
This  she  had  placed  over  the  door-sill,  so  that 
every  swing  of  the  chair  as  it  bumped  over  that 
sill  —  and  she  rocked  with  a  magnificent  vigour 
—  sent  a  rumble  and  thrill  through  the  entire 
building,  and,  incidentally,  through  my  head. 
To  add  to  the  prospect  of  my  having  a  nice, 
quiet  afternoon  a  little  boy  with  a  fine,  strong, 
new  pair  of  hobnailed,  copper- toed  boots  was 
testing  their  noise-making  propensities  by  gal- 
loping up  and  down  the  passage. 

In  the  face  of  all  these  opposing  forces  I  tried 
to  sleep,  but  of  course  unsuccessfully,  and  after 
a  couple  of  hours  of  pain  and  feverish  unrest 
I  opened  my  door,  and  in  the  sweetest  and  most 
insinuating  tone  I  could  command  told  the 
lady  opposite  of  my  weariness  and  headache, 
concluding  by  asking  her  if  she  would  not  have 

271 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

her  little  boy  play  elsewhere.  She  turned  her 
face  —  it  was  a  bright  little  face,  and  she  was 
a  bright,  pretty  little  woman  —  toward  me,  and 
said:  "No,  I  sha-ant!  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  spoil 
my  kid's  fun  fer  you.  Sleepy!  Why  don't  you 
go  inter  some  decent  business,  where  you  kin 
sleep  nights?" 

I  felt  that  her  remarks  were  at  least  unan- 
swerable, and  I  retired.  Feeling  disinclined 
to  woo  the  drowsy  god  again,  I  sat  on  a  hard, 
straight-backed  chair  and  mechanically  looked 
out  of  the  window.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
railroad  and  the  white,  sun-smitten  sandy  road 
there  lay  a  great  field  of  grass,  and  there  also 
was  a  high,  cool-looking  mound  of  new-mown 
hay.  As  I  sat,  bolt  upright,  in  that  hot,  com- 
fortless cell  of  a  room,  it  was  a  most  tempting 
vision,  and  as  the  time  dragged  along  and  the 
shadows  about  it  lengthened  it  seemed  to  my 
tired  eyes  and  wearied  fancy  to  stretch  out  its 
arms  to  me  and  invite  me  to  find  rest  beside  it; 
so  I  made  a  hasty  toilet,  and,  taking  a  book, 
I  passed  over  to  that  rick  of  hay. 

Oh!  how  cool  and  sweet  and  delicious  it  was, 
as  I  sank  down  upon  its  fragrant  softness,  and 

272 


NEW-MOWN   HAY 

how  I  did  enjoy  the  sweetness  and  the  quiet, 
and  I  settled  down  in  a  hollow  of  my  fragrant 
retreat  to  rest  and  read;  for  I  felt  that,  much  as 
I  should  have  enjoyed  doing  so,  it  would  not 
be  quite  the  thing,  even  in  unconventional 
Nevada,  to  yield  to  my  great  desire  to  take  a 
nap  there;  so  I  would  just  rest,  and  read,  and 
think,  and  —  and 

Eh?  What?  Where  was  I?  The  sun  had 
gone  down,  the  dark  shadows  of  night  were 
closing  in,  and  here  was  my  business  manager 
—  with  the  face  expressive  of  the  condition  of 
a  manager  who  sees  a  sinister  possibility  of  a 
full  house  being  dismissed,  and  the  money 
returned  —  bending  over  me. 

It  was  nearly  time  to  "ring  up";  the  house 
was  full;  the  lamps  were  trimmed;  the  hotel 
and  its  inmates  were  in  a  state  of  excitement 
in  which  disappointment  at  the  possibility  of 
missing  the  "show"  and  anticipation  of  a  spicy 
tragedy  were  about  equally  divided;  and  here 
had  I  been  asleep  for  hours  on  my  happily  found 
couch  of  new-mown  hay. 

The  play,  selected  by  popular  choice,  was 
"Camille."  Of  the  performance,  the  scenes, 

273 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

the  properties,  the  costumes,  no  amount  of 
description  would  do  justice  to  all  or  any  of 
them.  The  supper-table  was  a  study  at  once 
of  simplicity  of  detail  and  ingenuity  of  resource. 
The  epergne  of  fruit  which  decorated  its  centre 
consisted  of  an  old  straw  hat,  inverted,  and 
containing  three  withered  apples;  and  the 
glasses  from  which  we  were  supposed  to  quaff 
champagne  were  two  thick  tumblers  of  unequal 
size  and  one  thick  coffee-cup  with  a  broken 
handle. 

Of  my  Armand,  to  say  that  he  was  abso- 
lutely ignorant  of  the  lines  of  his  part  is  but 
faintly  to  express  his  shortcomings.  It  was 
not  so  much  what  he  did  not  say  that  was 
so  painful  as  what  he  did  say.  And  he  was 
entirely  and  airily  satisfied  with  himself  and 
his  efforts. 

Realising  the  situation,  and  being  anxious 
to  keep  the  performance  somewhere  within  the 
lines  of  the  story,  I  adopted  a  desperate  course. 
As  he  stood  regarding  me  with  a  smirk  of  senile 
self-sufficiency,  I  would  exclaim,  "Ah,  Armand, 
I  know  what  you  would  say,"  and  then  I  would 
speak  such  of  his  lines  as  were  necessary  to 
274 


VIGOROUS   ACTING 

make  it  possible  for  Camille  to  reply,  and  pro- 
ceed with  my  own  part. 

This  action  of  mine  produced  an  unexpected 
effect  upon  him.  At  first  he  was  surprised, 
then  bewildered,  then  angry.  Turning  fiercely 
upon  me,  he  exclaimed,  "Cum-mille,  you  ain't 
worth  no  man's  love.  I'll  leave  you  forever," 
and  rushed  for  the  centre  door  to  effect  an  exit. 
But  I  was  too  quick  for  him.  I  caught  his 
coat-tails  just  as  they  were  disappearing,  and, 
bringing  him  back  upon  the  stage,  I  cried  in 
tones  of  anguish,  "Armand!  you  shall  not  leave 
me  thus!"  —  and,  clinging  to  him,  I  held  him 
on  the  stage  by  main  force  till  I  managed  to 
bring  the  curtain  down. 

The  local  paper,  I  remember,  called  especial 
attention  to  the  extremely  lifelike  and  vigorous 
acting  of  this  scene. 


275 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SALT  LAKE  CITY  —  THE  GUEST  OF  BRIGHAM  YOUNG  —  THE 
KING  OF   UTAH  — POLYGAMY 

SALT  LAKE  CITY  is  to-day,  as  I  understand 
from  recent  visitors  there,  a  typical,  thriving, 
Western  business  centre,  differing  in  no  special 
features  from  any  other  town  of  like  size;  but 
a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  it  was  unique.  I 
think  no  other  spot  on  earth  was  like  it,  and  it 
was  like  no  other  spot  on  earth;  it  was  such  a 
mingling  of  the  savage  and  the  civilised,  the 
fervid  pietist  and  the  reckless  agnostic,  the 
thrifty  money-spinner  and  the  careless  spend- 
thrift. 

The  same  strong  contrasts  that  marked  its 
social  aspects  characterised  its  natural  features. 
It  was  a  great  strip  of  sandy  desert,  backed  by 
frowning  mountains,  and  made  all  the  more 
awe-inspiring  by  the  mysterious  presence  of 
the  Great  Salt  Lake.  But  this  sandy  desert 
had,  by  the  marvellous  energy  of  the  sect  that 
had  put  up  its  tents  in  it,  been  transformed  into 

276 


GUEST   OF   BRIGHAM   YOUNG 

a  garden.  The  streets  were  shaded  by  trees, 
and  made  sweet  and  refreshing  by  pure  water, 
both  having  been  brought  down  from  those 
frowning  mountains.  Cleanliness,  order,  quiet, 
and  apparent  peace  reigned  everywhere. 

To  this  most  interesting  spot  I  was  invited 
to  come  and  play  an  engagement.  I  timed 
my  acceptance  so  that  my  season  would  close 
there,  and  thus  I  might  devote  a  brief  time  to 
a  visit  in  the  city  and  its  neighbourhood.  On 
my  arrival  I  was  waited  upon  by  a  couple  of 
white- whiskered,  reverend-looking  men,  the 
bearers  of  an  invitation  from  Brigham  Young 
to  become  his  guest  during  my  stay.  When  I 
learned  that  I  was  to  be  entertained  at  the  best 
hotel  in  the  place,  where  the  best  suite  had 
been  reserved  for  me,  and  not  in  any  one  of 
the  score  or  so  of  his  marital  establishments, 
I  promptly  accepted  the  great  polygamist's 
hospitality. 

The  next  morning  a  fine  carriage,  drawn  by 
a  pair  of  spanking  bays,  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  and  a  message  was  sent  me  that  this 
carriage  was  at  my  disposal  for  the  period  of 
my  stay.  Promptly  at  nine  o'clock  every 

277 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

morning  it  appeared,  and  a  great  joy  and  com- 
fort it  was  to  me. 

I  lost  no  time  in  paying  my  respects  to  my 
host,  and  a  very  interesting  old  man  I  found 
him.  He  certainly  was  a  most  courteous, 
thoughtful,  and  attentive  host,  and  he  lost  no 
opportunity  to  make  my  visit  agreeable.  Day 
after  day  parties  were  formed  to  go  to  some 
one  of  the  many  marvellous  spots  with  which 
the  surrounding  country  abounded,  and  these 
parties  were  usually  recruited  from  members 
of  his  very  numerous  families.  There  were 
scores  of  young  and  middle-aged  men  and 
women  who  called  him  father,  and  they  one 
and  all  treated  him  with  great  respect  and 
deference.  I  soon  found,  however,  that  his 
many  wives  were  very  chary  of  meeting,  and 
always  referred  to  each  other  in  cold,  grudging 
terms.  This  state  of  feeling  seemed  to  be  uni- 
versal among  Mormon  wives. 

In  all  essentials,  but  not  in  name,  Brigham 
Young  was  a  sovereign,  and  his  rule  was  abso- 
lute. Nothing  could  exceed  his  pride  in  his 
principality  and  in  his  own  part  in  its  estab- 
lishment. He  would  point  to  the  great  range 

278 


A   TALK   ON   POLYGAMY 

of  mountains  all  around  us,  and  say,  "Look 
at  'em;  all  the  gold  in  California  is  nothin' 
compared  with  the  wealth  that's  in  them  moun- 
tains." And  when  I  put  to  him  the  pertinently 
natural  question  why  he  did  not  get  some  of  it 
out,  he  would  answer:  "If  I  did,  we  would  be 
swarmed  out  and  trodden  down  by  armies  of 
Gentiles,  for  the  Gentiles  love  gold  a  heap  bet- 
ter than  they  do  their  God,  for  all  their  talk." 

We  had  many  talks  on  the  subject  of  his 
peculiar  faith,  more  particularly  the  feature  of 
polygamy,  which  he,  of  course,  strenuously  de- 
fended, while  I  as  strenuously  opposed  it. 

I  particularly  remember  one  little  incident. 
He  took  me  one  day,  on  a  visit  of  inspection, 
to  a  house  in  course  of  erection.  As  we  passed 
from  room  to  room  this  subject  of  polygamy 
was  under  discussion,  and  by  way  of  illustrating 
his  argument  he  pointed  out  the  many  spacious 
advantages  of  the  house,  and  said: 

"Now,  suppose  you  were  living  in  this  house, 
and  say  you  were  sealed  to  me,  and  I  were  to 
bring  in  another  wife  and  establish  her  in 
another  wing,  why  should  you  object?  What 
would  you  do?" 

279 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

To  which  I  replied: 

"Do?    I  would  dance  on  her!" 

The  old  man  dropped  on  a  pile  of  lumber 
that  lay  conveniently  near,  and  laughed  until 
I  thought  he  would  do  himself  an  injury. 


280 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

PLAYING  A  BOY'S  PART  FOR  THE  ONLY  TIME — CLEOPATRA 
—  HENRY  BERGH'S  EULOGY 

IT  is  a  rather  odd  circumstance,  in  view  of 
the  large  range  of  characters  I  have  imperson- 
ated, that  I  have  never  played  but  one  boy's 
part.  That  was  when  I  was  a  green  girl  and 
was  cast  for  the  part  of  Violente,  in  the  comedy 
of  "The  Honeymoon."  In  those  days  I  made 
my  own  costumes,  and  in  a  general  way  was 
my  own  milliner  and  dressmaker.  So  I  set  to 
work,  studied  the  character,  and  made  myself 
a  nice  little  costume  for  it. 

The  night  of  the  performance  came.  With 
some  pride,  but  with  more  trepidation,  I  donned 
my  page's  suit.  During  the  progress  of  my 
dressing  for  the  part,  the  women  of  the  com- 
pany, whose  dressing-room  I  shared,  submitted 
me  to  a  running  fire  of  comment  and  criticism 
mere  pertinent  than  polite. 

I  bore  this  as  well  as  I  could,  though  I  con- 
281 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

fess  that  it  stung.  But  it  was  when  I  went  to 
the  greenroom,  and  was  made  the  target  for 
the  remarks  of  the  masculine  members  of  the 
company,  that  my  real  sufferings  began.  They 
were  quite  frank  in  the  expression  of  their 
opinions  as  to  my  appearance  on  this  particular 
occasion,  and  my  general  fitness  to  play  boys' 
parts.  I  had  found  the  comments  of  my  pro- 
fessional sisters  quite  hard  to  digest;  they  were 
tonic,  if  somewhat  bitter;  but  those  of  my  pro- 
fessional brothers  were  much  more  unpleasant, 
though  they  were  sweet,  cloyingly  sweet,  and 
their  effect  upon  me  was  to  reduce  me  to  tears, 
partly  of  embarrassment,  but  mainly  of  help- 
less indignation. 

The  result  of  all  this  was  that  Violente  went 
on  the  stage  with  a  pair  of  red  eyes,  a  swollen 
nose  (which  no  amount  of  powder  could  reduce 
to  symmetry),  and  a  voice  choked  with  unuttered 
sobs.  The  end  of  the  performance  came  at 
last.  I  went  to  my  dressing-room,  and,  as  I 
dropped  my  pretty  little  page's  suit,  I  laid  it 
in  a  neat  heap  on  the  floor  with  the  remark 
that  the  costume  was  entirely  at  the  service 
of  any  one  who  liked  to  take  it,  as  I  should 

282 


PLAYING  A   BOY'S   PART 

never  need  it  again,  for  the  reason  that  I  would 
never  again  play  a  boy's  part. 

This  declaration  of  mine  was  met  by  a  volley 
of  remarks,  some  of  derision,  some  of  amuse- 
ment, some  of  lofty  disapproval.  One  lady 
said,  with  severe  acrimony,  "Ah,  young  one, 
you'll  get  bravely  over  all  that  nonsense.  You'll 
play  many  a  boy's  part  before  you  get  through 
your  career  as  an  actress,  if  you  propose  to  be 
an  actress." 

Whereupon  I  retorted,  "I  will  be  an  actress, 
and  my  name  as  an  actress  will  be  known  and 
will  live  when  you  and  your  name  are  forgotten, 
and  I  will  never  again  play  a  boy's  part." 

And  never  since  have  I  played  in  that  char- 
acter. But  I  think  my  resolution  was  a  very 
stupid  one,  for  because  of  it  I  have  deprived 
myself  of  the  privilege  of  playing  some  glorious 
parts,  such  as  I  mo  gene,  Viola,  and  Rosalind. 

But  I  have  consoled  myself  for  never  having 
played  any  of  these  delightful  characters  by 
appearing  as  some  of  the  great  heroines  of 
Shakespeare,  as  Lady  Macbeth,  Beatrice,  Her- 
mione,  and  Cleopatra.  I  am  often  asked  which 
is  my  favourite  character,  and  I  am  never  able 

283 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

to  answer  this  question  conclusively.  But  I 
certainly  enjoyed  playing  Cleopatra  more  than 
any  other  part,  and  I  think  that  was,  perhaps, 
because  of  many  contributing  causes  —  the 
most  potent,  may  be,,  being  the  fact  that  at  the 
time  when  I  first  played  the  role  I  had  but 
recently  returned  from  a  residence  of  some 
years'  duration  in  the  East,  and  was  more  or 
less  permeated  with  the  Oriental  atmosphere. 
While  in  Egypt  I  had  actually  lived  for  a  while 
upon  almost  the  identical  spot  where,  long  ago, 
had  stood  a  summer  palace  of  Cleopatra. 

Then  I  had  brought  with  me  from  the  East 
many  things  that  I  used  in  arranging  my  cos- 
tumes,—  silks,  quaintly  fringed  scarfs  from 
Damascus,  shawls  from  Persia,  and  ornaments 
of  virgin  gold  and  silver,  rudely  beaten  out  and 
set  with  gems.  From  drawings  and  photo- 
graphs which  I  was  at  great  pains  to  procure, 
from  copies  of  ornaments  which  had  from  time 
to  time  been  discovered  by  the  researches  of 
archaeologists  and  preserved  in  the  museums, 
I  had  had  made  crowns  and  other  headgear, 
jewelled  belts,  girdles,  armlets,  bracelets,  ear- 
rings, and  various  ornaments,  all  of  which  were 

284 


"ANTONY   AND   CLEOPATRA" 

faithful  counterparts  of  the  gewgaws  with  which 
women  of  that  faraway  period  had  bedecked 
themselves. 

All  these  details  helped  to  fix  in  my  mind 
a  certainty  and  clearness  that  I  would  be  able 
to  look  the  part,  at  any  rate;  and  I  think  that 
every  actress  will  agree  with  me  that  to  feel 
sure  that  one  looks  a  part  is  always  a  great  help 
in  playing  it. 

Another  important  factor,  and  one  which 
added  greatly  to  my  enjoyment  of  the  perform- 
ance, was  the  complete,  correct,  and  gorgeous 
character  of  the  production.  It  was  at  the 
California  Theatre,  under  John  McCullough's 
management.  There  had  been  an  arrangement 
entered  into  between  McCullough  and  myself, 
at  the  close  of  an  engagement,  that  I  should 
return  the  following  year  and  play  a  Shake- 
spearean heroine,  for  which  he  would  make  a 
production.  Whatever  I  may  or  may  not  have 
done,  he  most  nobly  kept  his  share  of  the  com- 
pact. 

After  much  discussion  "Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra" was  the  piece  settled  upon,  and  with 
much  tribulation  I  set  to  work  to  study  the 

285 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

part;  and,  without  overstepping  modesty,  I 
can  say  I  played  it  well.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  Cleopatra  is  the  strongest,  the  most  com- 
plex, and  most  difficult  to  realise  of  all  Shake- 
speare's heroines.  It  calls  upon  the  actress  to 
run  the  gamut  of  every  emotion  and  every 
passion  which  the  heart  is  capable  of  feeling 
or  the  tongue  is  capable  of  expressing,  and  to 
be  able  to  depict  her  in  all  her  varying  moods 
is  to  elevate  histrionism  to  its  apex. 

The  production  had  a  run  of  four  weeks, 
an  unprecedented  success  in  those  days  in 
California.  Afterward  I  played  the  piece  in 
the  various  cities  North,  South,  East  and  West, 
but  never  under  the  agreeable  circumstances 
or  with  the  artistic  surroundings  that  marked 
its  first  production. 

I  remember  one  incident  that  marked  this 
difference.  Henry  Bergh,  the  founder  of  the 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Ani- 
mals, was  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  intellect 
and  literary  attainment,  and  was  a  loving  stu- 
dent of  Shakespeare.  He  attended  a  perform- 
ance of  the  piece  when  I  was  most  inadequately 
supported.  Afterward  he  called  upon  me,  and 

286 


PRAISED  BY   HENRY   BERGH 

on  his  entrance  he  saluted  me,  not  in  my  own 
person,  but  as  Cleopatra.  He  then  went  on 
to  say  that  the  illusion  which  my  make-up  and 
general  appearance  and  performance  created 
was  so  complete  that  he  would  never  again  be 
able  to  dissociate  me  in  his  thoughts  from 
Egypt's  queen.  "In  fact,"  he  continued,  "as 
you  reclined  upon  your  throne,  regarding  the 
various  persons  who  were  about  you,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  you  were  observing  them  with  a 
mixture  of  contemptuous  amusement  and  cu- 
riosity, as  wondering  if  they  were  trying  to 
entertain  you,  and  thinking  how  unsuccessful 
they  were." 


287 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

LONDON  AND  ITS  NOTABLES  —  TOM  TAYLOR  —  THE  OLYM- 
PIC THEATRE  —  BEERBOHM  TREE  —  THE  EFFECT  OF 

TOO  REALISTIC  ACTING — A  NOBLE  LORD'S  CRITICISM 
—  "ANNIE  THOMAS" 

MY  second  visit  to  Europe  was  at  the  close 
of  a  long  season,  and  for  the  same  reason  that 
occasioned  the  first,  to  obtain  a  much-needed 
rest,  for  I  was  pretty  thoroughly  worn  out, 
having  played  Cleopatra  during  the  preceding 
year  almost  exclusively. 

I  had  no  intention  of  acting  while  abroad, 
for,  before  my  departure,  I  had  signed  a  con- 
tract with  Colonel  Sinn  to  play  under  his  man- 
agement the  following  season,  beginning  in 
September.  As  he  had  arranged  to  have  me 
play  a  pretty  extensive  repertory,  the  necessity 
for  the  devotion  of  many  weeks  to  preparatory 
rehearsals  made  my  early  return  imperative. 

While  in  London  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
fall  into  a  most  interesting  social  set  of  actors, 
writers,  and  other  notables.  Among  them  were 
Charles  Reade,  "Tom"  Taylor,  Wilkie  Collins, 

288 


TOM    TAYLOR 

"Annie  Thomas,"  Sir  John  Mfflais,  W.  S.  Gil- 
bert, Henry  Irving,  Ellen  Terry,  J.  S.  Clark 
(who,  though  an  American,  had  long  been 
known  as  a  London  manager),  B.  F.  Chatter- 
ton,  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  Lord  Londesborough, 
Robert  Buchanan,  Edmund  Yates,  John  Cole- 
man,  Mrs.  Charles  Kean,  Lionel  B  rough,  Henry 
J.  Byron,  Mrs.  Chippendale,  and  a  host  of 
others. 

I  have  a  particularly  pleasant  recollection 
of  Tom  Taylor.  Possibly  my  memory  of  him 
is  only  another  proof  of  the  power  of  mutual 
admiration,  for,  from  our  first  meeting,  although 
he  had  never  seen  me  act,  he  conceived  a  great 
admiration  for  my  dramatic  powers,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  impressed  with  the  idea  that  there 
were  characteristics  in  my  personality  and 
general  presence  which,  to  his  mind,  seemed 
eminently  to  fit  me  to  realise  the  tragic  and 
heroic. 

So  impressed  was  he  with  this  idea  that  he 
was  very  anxious  to  write  a  tragedy  for  me, 
with  Boadicea,  Queen  of  Britain,  for  its  heroine, 
but  somehow  the  subject  did  not  appeal  to  me, 
and  nothing  ever  came  of  the  scheme. 

289 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

In  his  personal  appearance  Tom  Taylor  was 
the  very  opposite  of  the  usual  literary  man;  he 
looked  much  more  like  a  well-to-do  miller.  He 
affected  grey  clothing  and  a  soft  grey  hat,  and 
when  one  saw  his  fine,  strong  face  crowned  with 
iron-grey  hair,  he  looked  like  a  miller  powdered 
with  his  own  stock. 

Both  Tom  Taylor  and  Charles  Reade  were 
very  desirous  that  I  should  play  Cleopatra  in 
London,  predicting  a  great  success;  but  as  by 
this  time  it  was  June,  and  I  was  to  return  to 
America  in  August,  such  an  appearance  was 
out  of  the  question.  I  did,  however,  play  two 
short  engagements  in  London,  in  both  of  which 
I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  very  successful. 

My  first  character  was  Nancy  Sykes  at  the 
Olympic  Theatre,  London,  where  the  audiences 
liked  my  Nancy  much  better  than  I  ever  did. 
I  always  disliked  the  part  from  the  first  time 
I  played  it  in  association  with  Wallack  and 
Davenport. 

As  a  result  of  this  brief  engagement  I  received 
offers  from  several  London  managers,  which, 
if  I  had  been  free  to  accept  them,  would  have 
filled  out  a  year  in  that  city,  in  that  part  alone. 

290 


REALISTIC  ACTING 

At  this  time  the  lesseeship  of  Drury  Lane 
Theatre  was  to  be  disposed  of,  and  Chatterton 
and  Harris  were  rival  competitors.  Mr.  Chat- 
terton offered  me  an  engagement  there  under 
the  most  flattering  conditions,  in  the  event  of 
his  obtaining  possession  of  it.  But  Harris  won. 

It  was  during  my  engagement  at  the  Olympic 
Theatre  that  Beerbohm  Tree  made  his  first 
professional  appearance,  although  he  had  long 
been  known  as  an  amateur  of  marked  ability. 
On  the  occasion  I  refer  to  he  played  the  part  of 
a  German  waiter  in  a  curtain-raiser. 

A  somewhat  interesting  incident  occurred 
during  this  engagement.  One  night,  some  time 
after  the  curtain  had  fallen,  while  I  was  busy 
removing  the  traces  of  Nancy's  tragic  death, 
a  gentleman  appeared  at  the  door  of  my  dress- 
ing-room, having  been  brought  there  by  an 
usher  from  the  front  of  the  house.  After  pro- 
fuse apologies  for  his  intrusion,  he  begged  me 
to  go  with  him  to  the  assistance  of  the  young 
lady  under  his  escort,  who  with  him  had  wit- 
nessed the  performance,  was  in  great  distress 
of  mind  on  my  account,  and  refused  to  be  com- 
forted. He  said  if  she  could  see  me,  she  would 

291 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

be  convinced  of  my  safety,  but  he  feared  in  no 
other  way. 

I  slipped  on  some  garment  and  went  with 
him.  The  theatre  was  dark  and  empty,  save 
for  a  little  group  which  the  dim  light  of  a  lan- 
tern in  the  hand  of  the  night  watchman  showed 
me  at  the  top  of  the  three  steps  leading  down 
to  the  stalls.  There,  sitting  on  the  top  step, 
was  a  fair  young  woman,  her  dress  dishevelled, 
her  beautiful  brown  hair  fallen  about  her 
shoulders,  her  hands  pressed  tightly  over  her 
eyes.  She  was  rocking  herself,  and  moaning 
and  muttering  incoherently.  I  sat  down  beside 
her,  took  her  hands  in  mine,  drew  them  from 
her  face,  and  cheerfully  begged  her  to  see  for 
herself  that  I  was  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
the  worse  for  all  the  dreadful  scenes  she  had 
witnessed. 

At  the  sound  of  my  voice  she  threw  back 
her  head  and  listened,  slowly  opened  her  eyes, 
looked  searchingly  into  my  face,  and,  being 
at  last  convinced  of  who  I  was,  flung  herself 
into  my  arms  with  a  cry  of:  "Oh,  you  poor  dear, 
they  didn't  kill  you  after  all!"  After  which 
she  pulled  herself  together  and  went  home,  to 
292 


A  NOBLEMAN'S  CRITICISM 

the  great  relief  of  all  of  us  who  wanted  to  do 
likewise. 

The  criticism  of  Lord  Londesborough  was 
quite  as  hearty  and  sincere,  though  it  was  offered 
in  a  somewhat  original  fashion.  After  the  cur- 
tain had  fallen  upon  poor  dead  Nancy,  he  came 
to  my  dressing-room  to  pay  his  respects,  but 
when  he  found  himself  there  he  seemed  to  be 
a  bit  bewildered.  He  peered  at  me  through 
his  glasses,  his  face  wearing  an  expression  of 
helpless  amazement.  Finally  he  took  my  hands 
in  his,  but  seemed  to  be  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
to  do  with  them,  and,  looking  down  upon  me, 
his  expression  of  amazement  momentarily  in- 
creasing, he  muttered  at  intervals:  "Extraor- 
dinary! Ton  my  life,  mos'  extraordinary!" 
Then,  dropping  my  hands,  he  backed  toward 
the  door,  only  to  return  and  repeat  this  cere- 
mony several  times,  at  last  making  his  exit. 
But  even  then  there  still  floated  back  to  me, 
"Mos'  extraordinary !  really  mos'  extraordinary !" 

I   found   much   to   interest   me   in   "Annie 
Thomas."    I  had  long  been  familiar  with  her 
293 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

name,  having  often  read  it  on  the  title-pages  of 
her  novels,  and  had  as  often  wondered  why  she 
had  never  come  to  the  front,  for  I  thought  her 
literary  work  far  in  advance  of  that  of  many  of 
her  fellow- workers  in  the  same  field,  who  had 
achieved  success.  After  meeting  her  I  no  longer 
wondered,  unless  it  was  to  wonder  how,  with 
the  many  claims  she  had  upon  her,  she  managed 
to  do  so  much.  In  real  life  she  was  Mrs.  Annie 
Cudlipp.  Her  husband,  a  clergyman,  was  in 
charge  of  a  large,  turbulent,  East  End  London 
parish,  where  he  held  three  daily  services  and 
drew  a  salary  of  fifty  pounds  a  year.  She  had 
a  large  family  of  small  children,  and  was  a 
devoted  wife  and  mother.  Besides  being  a 
bright,  pretty  woman,  fond  of  society,  she 
managed,  despite  all  these  claims  upon  her 
time  and  energies,  to  keep  in  touch  with  her 
other  work. 

One  morning  I  met  her  on  the  Strand.  Her 
appearance  denoted  that  she  was  in  some 
trouble.  "Oh,  my  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  "I 
am  in  such  a  scrape.  When  I  left  home  this 
morning  I  had  fifty  pages  of  ' scrip'  for  'Tin." 
This,  being  translated,  meant  that  she  had 
294 


A  LOST  MANUSCRIPT 

written  fifty  pages  of  manuscript  on  a  serial 
story  that  was  running  in  "Tinsley 's  Magazine." 
"And  now,  look!" — pointing  to  a  bag  which 
hung  upon  her  arm — "When  I  was  leaving  the 
'bus  a  few  moments  ago,  this  beast"  —  shaking 
her  little  black  bag  —  "had  its  mouth  wide 
open,  and  my  fifty  pages  are  gone  to  the 
devil! — God  forgive  me!  —  and  I  a  parson's 
wife!" 

I  soothed  and  comforted  her,  assuring  her 
that  William  Tinsley,  whom  I  knew  quite  well 
as  one  of  the  kindest  of  men,  would  straighten 
the  matter  out  for  her. 

We  turned  into  Catharine  Street,  and,  finding 
Mr.  Tinsley  in  his  office,  she  repeated  to  him 
her  tale  of  woe.  He  turned  away  without  a 
word,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  us  for  a  brief 
time,  then  returned,  and,  patting  Mrs.  Cudlipp 
on  the  shoulder,  said:  "There,  there,  Annie, 
we'll  manage.  We'll  insert  a  slip  in  this  month's 
edition,  saying,  '  Owing  to  a  press  of  matter, 
Annie  Thomas's  charming  story  is  unavoid- 
ably crowded  out  this  month.'  Now,  go  home, 
pull  yourself  together,  and  write  something 
a  deal  better." 

295 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

WILKIE  COLLINS  —  CHARLES  READE  —  THE  INFLUENCE  OF 
CHARLES  DICKENS —  NANCY  SYKES  CONVERTS  A  BAP- 
TIST 

AMONG  the  literary  men  whom  I  met  in 
London,  perhaps  Wilkie  Collins  was  as  great 
a  surprise,  and,  in  a  way,  as  great  a  disappoint- 
ment, as  I  ever  experienced  in  a  first  meeting 
with  a  "notable."  In  all  Mr.  Collins's  stories 
I  had  read,  his  men,  especially  his  villains, 
had  been  big,  portentous,  heavy  men;  while 
he,  in  his  own  person,  was  the  exact  opposite 
of  all  these,  and  certainly,  in  dealing  out  all 
these  fine  proportions  to  his  characters,  Wilkie 
Collins  displayed  a  modesty  unusual  among 
people  of  his  craft. 

He  was  "the  mildest-mannered  man,"  and 
almost  the  smallest,  I  ever  met,  who  was  not 
positively  a  dwarf.  His  hands  and  feet  were 
almost  dwarfed,  and  as  he  sat  perched  up  on 
a  rather  high  chair  at  his  writing-table,  with 
his  grizzled  beard  flowing  over  his  breast,  and 
his  low,  soft  voice  flowing  out  in  silvery  accents, 
296 


AN  AUTHOR'S  WEAKNESS 

his  head  surmounted  with  a  quaintly  shaped 
skull-cap,  he  looked  rather  like  a  wizard  who 
had  fallen  under  the  ban  of  his  fairy  godmother, 
who  in  anger  had  deprived  him  of  his  legs. 

The  first  time  I  met  him,  he  was  suffering 
from  one  of  his  frequent  attacks  of  gout.  I  re- 
member, when  I  mentioned  this  circumstance 
to  Charles  Reade,  that  gentleman  said  —  and 
there  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  gusto,  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  in  his  tone:  "Ah!  Wilkie  has  been 
drinking  champagne!  He  will  do  it,  though 
he  knows  it's  poison  to  him.  The  very  moment 
he  gets  a  bit  better,  off  he  will  trot  to  the  club 
and  have  a  good  'tuck-in'  of  lobster  and 
champagne,  and  so  gets  another  attack." 

This  gloating  over  the  weakness  of  his  liter- 
ary brother  struck  me  as  particularly  human, 
for  this  was  precisely  one  of  Mr.  Reade' s  many 
weaknesses.  His  enemy  was  dyspepsia,  and 
any  deviation  from  simple  fare  was  sure  to  be 
followed  by  a  sharp  attack  of  this  malady,  with 
the  inevitable  result  of  reducing  him  to  repen- 
tance, abstemiousness,  and  bad  temper. 

He  was  under  the  influence  of  this  combina- 
tion when,  one  day,  I  visited  Covent  Garden 

297 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

with  him.  With  the  inconsistency  that  so  ^f ten 
marked  his  conduct,  he  bought  for  me  the  rarest 
fruit  and  the  most  beautiful  plants,  exhibiting 
in  his  selections  the  finest  taste  and  the  most 
lavish  generosity;  and  then  he  dragged  me, 
shamefaced  enough,  through  the  length  of  the 
market,  begging  of  every  stall-keeper  the  gift 
of  a  bruised  peach,  of  which  dainty  morsel  he 
expressed  himself  as  being  extravagantly  fond. 
I  think  it  is  conceded  that  Charles  Dickens 
was  a  powerful  teacher  of  Christian  charity; 
and  it  was  once  my  privilege  to  be  his  apostle, 
the  knowledge  of  which  came  to  me  in  rather 
an  odd  way.  I  was  crossing  the  Atlantic  on 
my  return  voyage,  and  as  I  sat  huddled  in  my 
steamer-chair,  looking,  as  I  always  do  look  on 
shipboard,  more  like  a  bundle  of  rags  than  a 
reasonable  woman,  I  noticed  among  my  fellow- 
passengers  a  venerable-looking,  white-haired 
man  in  the  garb  of  a  clergyman.  One  day, 
the  captain,  with  whom  I  had  crossed  many 
times,  said  this  old1  gentleman  wished  to  be 
presented  to  me.  I  consented,  thinking  that 
knowing  my  profession,  the  minister  felt  it 
his  duty  to  make  an  effort  to  convert  me.  I 

298 


A  BAPTIST   CONVERT 

wats  quite  wrong;  it  was,  on  the  contrary,  to 
thank  me  for  having  been  the  cause  of  his  con- 
version. The  means  of  my  doing  this,  sum- 
marised, were  as  follows : 

This  old  man  had  been  educated  a  Baptist 
of  the  most  severe  type,  and  had  never  read 
a  novel  or  any  work  of  fiction.  The  men- 
tal illness  of  a  brother-in-law  had  occasioned 
this,  his  first  visit  to  Europe,  the  imperative 
condition  being  that,  while  it  was  dangerous 
to  oppose  his  change,  it  was  equally  imperative 
that  he  should  be  closely  and  constantly  watched 
and  accompanied  everywhere  he  chose  to  go. 

One  night  during  my  London  engagement 
this  brother-in-law  of  my  new  acquaintance, 
finding  himself  in  front  of  the  Olympic  Theatre, 
where  I  was  playing  Nancy  Sykes,  walked  in, 
and  his  relative  was  forced  to  follow  him.  The 
old  gentleman  said  to  me:  "I  felt  that  I  was 
walking  through  the  gates  of  hell,"  and  then  he 
proceeded  to  describe  his  feelings  and  experi- 
ences. At  first,  his  horror  at  finding  himself 
in  a  theatre  swept  away  every  other  thought, 
but  gradually  he  found  himself  becoming  more 
interested  in  poor  Nancy,  the  womanhood  of 
299 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

the  poor  creature  shining  out  amid  the  gloom 
and  wretchedness  and  sin  of  her  surroundings. 
In  short,  he  told  me  that  when  the  curtain  fell 
he  awakened  to  the  truth  that  he  had  received 
one  of  the  deepest,  most  far-reaching  lessons 
in  Christian  charity  of  his  life,  and  he  felt  pro- 
found gratitude  to  Charles  Dickens  for  having 
given  the  world  the  story,  and  to  me  for  having 
revealed  it  to  him. 

This  confession,  as  it  were,  on  his  part,  led 
to  long  talks  between  my  convert  and  myself, 
with  the  result  that  he  expressed  the  determi- 
nation to  enter  upon  a  new  course  of  reading 
of  humanity,  which,  beginning  with  the  great 
teacher,  Shakespeare,  should  include  all  the 
standard  writers  of  English  fiction  from  the 
Elizabethan  to  the  Victorian  era. 

That  he  carried  out  this  resolution  I  know, 
for  the  acquaintance,  which  was  begun  under 
such  unusual  circumstances,  ripened  into  a 
friendship  which  was  brought  to  an  end  only 
by  the  death  of  my  friend. 


300 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

EDMUND  YATES. —  ROBERT  BUCHANAN  —  MRS.  W.  E.  GLAD- 
STONE —  PROFESSOR  BLACKIE  —  PALGRAVE  SIMPSON 

AMONG  the  men  whom  I  met  in  London  were 
Edmund  Yates  and  Robert  Buchanan.  It  is 
rather  paradoxical  to  mention  them  together, 
for  no  two  men  were  ever  farther  apart.  They 
had  had,  at  some  time,  a  very  bitter  quarrel, 
and,  being  both  very  bumptious,  and  holding 
very  exaggerated  opinions  of  their  own  im- 
portance, each  nursed  his  wrath  against  the 
other,  which,  as  a  consequence,  was  always 
at  white  heat.  It  was  quite  understood  among 
their  mutual  friends  and  acquaintances  that 
Buchanan's  name  was  not  to  be  mentioned  in 
Yates' s  presence,  and  vice  versa.  Occasionally, 
however,  someone,  bent  on  a  bit  of  fun,  would 

break  this  rule,  and  then 

;  Edmund  Yates' s  wife  was  the  daughter  of 
a  saddlemaker  who  had  accumulated  a  fortune, 
a  large  portion  of  which  had  fallen  to  this 
daughter.  She  was  —  letting  her  tell  it  —  the 

301 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

greatest  lady  in  London.  About  the  time  I 
met  them  they  had  jtist  moved  into  a  fine  house 
in  an  ultra-aristocratic  neighbourhood,  and, 
in  speaking  of  the  arrangement  of  her  new 
abode,  she  said:  "I  shall  not  use  the  rooms  on 
the  first  floor  at  all ;  they  will  be  used  for  offices 
and  reception-rooms  for  writers  and  actors, 
and  that  sort  of  person  that  Edmund  always 
has  about  him."  As  "Edmund"  was  the  son 
of  an  actor  and  actress,  and  "that  sort  of  per- 
son," her  remark  was  in  peculiarly  good  taste. 
Robert  Buchanan  and  his  wife  were  of  quite 
a  different  sort, —  whole-souled,  hospitable,  and 
unconventional.  Indeed  it  sometimes  struck 
me  that  Robert  Buchanan  was  a  trifle  too  un- 
conventional; as,  for  instance,  when  he  walked 
into  a  box  at  the  theatre  to  pay  his  respects  to 
me,  arrayed  in  a  heavy  tweed  suit. 

I  often  found  Englishmen  more  careless  in 
matters  of  dress  than  Americans.  Charles 
Reade  once  gave  me  rather  a  shock  when  he 
called  to  take  me  to  some  social  function,  and 
he  was  dressed  in  a  long,  loose,  black  velvet 
garment,  that,  if  he  had  worn  it  at  home,  would 
302 


MRS.  W.  E,  GLADSTONE 

have  passed  very  well  for  a  dressing-gown.  To 
add  to  his  appearance  he  was  without  his  false 
teeth.  I  have  no  doubt  they  were  quietly  re- 
posing in  the  waste-paper  basket  in  his  writing- 
room,  their  usual  refuge.  An  Englishwoman, 
however,  will  rise  to  her  circumstances  with 
more  courage  than  we  Americans  are  apt  to 
do.  Her  gown  may  be  of  cheap  material,  if 
she  cannot  afford  better,  and  it  may  not  be  well 
or  tastefully  made,  but  it  will  always  be  con- 
ventionally correct  for  the  occasion  on  which 
it  is  worn. 

I  speak  with  profound  respect  for  the  lady, 
but  one  of  the  worst,  if  not  the  very  worst, 
dressed  women  I  ever  met  in  society  was  Mrs. 
William  Ewart  Gladstone.  I  remember  on  one 
occasion  meeting  her  at  luncheon  at  Dalmeny, 
where  we  were  guests  of  Earl  Rosebery.  She 
was  arrayed  in  a  gown  of  shabby,  once  black 
velveteen,  trimmed  with  cheap  cotton  lace. 

Dalmeny,  which  is  near  Edinburgh,  reminds 

me  of  a  noble  man,  indeed,  whom   I  had  the 

privilege  of  meeting  in  that  old  town, —  John 

Stuart  Blackie,  professor  of  Greek  at  Edin- 

303 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

burgh  University.  No  man  was  more  beloved 
and  revered  in  the  university  and  in  the  com- 
munity than  was  this  gracious,  kingly  old  man. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  sensation  which  his 
advent  created  in  a  usually  quiet  household 
on  the  occasion  of  his  first  call  upon  me.  I  was 
having  my  afternoon  tea  "wi'  a  wee  bittee  hot 
scone,"  in  the  cosy  sitting-room  of  my  Edin- 
burgh lodging,  when  my  hostess  fell  in,  and 
with  starting  eyes  and  heaving  breast  gasped, 
with  bated  breath,  "He's  bye!  he's  ben  the 
hoose!  he's  comin'  up  the  stair!  It's  you,  mem, 
it's  you  he's  wantin';  I  her-ed  him  speak  yer 
name!" 

And  out  she  rushed;  while  I  sat  amazed, 
and  wondering  whether  this  visitor  was  a  Ma- 
hatma  from  Tibet  or  a  sheriff  from  New  York, 
that  his  appearance  created  such  consternation. 

From  without  I  heard  mysterious  sounds  of 
opening  and  shutting  of  drawers,  scuffling  and 
shuffling  of  feet,  and  whispers  in  excited  tones. 
Then  silence,  followed  by  the  sound  of  a  firm 
footstep  on  the  landing. 

The  door  opened,  and  my  landlady,  looking 
inches  taller  and  miles  grander  than  I  had  ever 

304 


A  PACKED  HOUSE 

seen  her  before,  and  arrayed  in  a  long,  black 
silk  apron,  and  a  cap  with  flowers  at  the  sides 
and  flowing  Gibbon  strings,  handed  me  a  card, 
bearing  the  Professor's  name.  When  I  read 
it,  and  calmly  asked  her  to  show  the  gentleman 
in,  and  fetch  another  cup  and  saucer,  her 
consternation  was  complete.  But  it  was  when 
the  Professor  departed  that  the  great  sensa- 
tion occurred;  I  accompanied  him  to  the  door, 
and  we  found  awaiting  his  appearance  literally 
a  packed  house.  Every  inch  of  available  space 
was  filled.  The  dear,  kindly  old  man,  accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  these  marks  of  love,  did  not 
share  my  surprise  at  this  demonstration,  but 
passed  down  through  the  crowd,  flinging  quips 
and  pleasant  greetings;  and  a  fine,  pleasant 
sight  he  was,  with  his  snow-white  hair  flowing 
about  his  neck,  under  his  black,  soft,  slouched 
hat,  and  carrying  on  his  shoulders  a  mantle 
of  the  Stuart  plaid. 

Palgrave  Simpson  was  another  English  writer 

whom  I  met.     He  always  struck  me  as  being 

the  most  un-Bohemian  writer  I  ever  knew.     He 

was  a  quiet,  serious,  unobtrusive  gentleman, 

305 


ROSE  EYTINGE 

and  when  in  his  company  it  was  hard  to  realise 
that  he  was  the  author  of  many  comedies  and 
rattling  farces  that  have  held  a  place  on  the 
English  stage  for  the  last  twenty  or  thirty  years. 
He  wanted  me  to  play  Lady  Dedlock  in  his 
dramatisation  of  "Bleak  House,"  but  I  had 
had  the  good  fortune  to  see  Madame  Janau- 
schek  play  that  part,  in  conjunction  with  Hor- 
tense,  the  vindictive  waiting-maid  of  her  haughty 
ladyship,  and  I  was  not  willing  to  disturb  my 
recollection  of  her  admirable  performance  of 
those  two  parts. 


306 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

CHANGES     IN     THE     PROFESSION  —  LUCILLE     WESTERN  — 
LOUIS     ALDRICH  —  JAMES     A.     HERNE  —  ADAH     ISAACS 

MENKEN 

OTHER  times,  other  manners.  No  greater 
change  has  taken  place  in  matters  theatrical 
than  in  the  ways  of  actresses.  It  used  to  be 
the  custom  for  an  actress  of  any  prominence  to 
surround  herself  with  an  atmosphere  of  ex- 
clusiveness  and  mystery.  She  was  never  to  be 
seen,  as  she  may  be  constantly,  to-day,  upon 
the  ordinary  promenade,  or  at  the  theatre,  or 
shopping,  or  at  teas,  or  receptions. 

She  was  known  personally  only  to  a  few 
intimate  friends.  The  public  never  saw  her, 
except  upon  the  stage. 

Many  times,  some  thirty  years  ago,  I  hap- 
pened to  stop  at  the  same  hotel  with  Lucille 
Western.  She  was  a  beautiful  creature,  and 
then  in  the  zenith  of  her  charms  and  her  repu- 
tation. I  remember  how  jealously  she  guarded 
herself  from  casual  observation.  She  never 

307 


ROSE     EYTINGE 

permitted  herself  to  enter  the  public  rooms  of 
the  hotel,  such  as  the  parlour,  reception-room, 
and  dining-room.  Her  meals  were  always 
served  in  her  own  apartment,  and  when  she 
left  or  entered  the  hotel  she  would  pass 
swiftly  and  silently  along,  not  only  her  face, 
but  also  her  head  and  shoulders,  draped  in  a 
heavy  black-lace  veil. 

Even  in  her  own  room  she  always  kept  this 
veil  near  her,  and,  if  a  knock  came  to  the  door, 
she  would  invariably  cover  her  face  with  it 
before  the  summons  was  answered. 

This  conduct  on  the  part  of  Lucille  Western 
may  have  been  a  little  extreme,  for  she  was  an 
intense  woman  and  given  to  extremes,  but  the 
rule  of  exclusiveness  and  aloofness  from  obser- 
vation used  to  be  general  with  actresses. 

Two  men,  with  whom  I  had  personal  inter- 
course, and  each  prominent  in  their  respective 
paths  of  life,  were  Louis  Aldrich  and  James  A. 
Herne.  Of  the  former  more  perhaps  than  of 
any  man  I  ever  knew  might  in  truth  be  quoted 
these  lines: 

None  knew  him  but  to  love  him, 
None  named  him  but  to  praise. 

308 


AN  INVETERATE  GUYER 

When  the  grave  closed  upon  him  every  actor 
and  actress  lost  a  true  friend. 

Though  Louis  Aldrich  was  in  the  fullest  and 
freest  sense  of  the  term  a  legitimate  actor,  there 
is  no  denying  that  he  was  also  an  inveterate 
"guyer,"  and  he  could  "guy"  so  artistically, 
with  so  serious  a  face  and  so  dignified  a  port, 
with  so  much  poise  and  self-possession,  that 
while  those  in  the  scene  with  him  would  be 
convulsed  with  laughter,  and  would  have  much 
ado  to  hold  themselves  together,  the  audience 
would  never  for  a  moment  suspect  him.  An 
example  of  this  occurs  to  me. 

I  was  in  the  cast  with  him  in  a  war-piece 
written  by  Augustus  Thomas,  called  "Surren- 
der." In  this  piece  there  was  a  court-martial, 
at  which  Mr.  Aldrich  enacted  the  part  of  the 
judge-advocate.  There  was  an  amusing  inter- 
change between  the  president  of  the  court  and 
the  comedian. 

Now  this  comedian  was  a  bit  of  a  "guyer" 
himself,  so  they  had  several  tilts.  On  this 
particular  night,  when  the  comedy  man  came 
up  for  examination,  Mr.  Aldrich  straightened 
himself  up,  looked  at  the  witness  with  severe, 

309 


ROSE    EYTINGE 

judicial  dignity,  and  in  a  deep,  portentous  voice 
went  on  to  say:  "I  know  what  you  are  about 
to  tell  me,  sir.  You  would  tell  me,"  —  and 
then  proceeded  to  give  the  unfortunate  wight's 
entire  scene,  gags  and  all.  That  comedian's 
face  was  a  study. 

Of  the  famous  Herne  I  saw  much  less  than 
I  did  of  Aldrich,  either  as  actor  or  as  man,  but 
the  little  I  did  see  endeared  him  to  me  for  both 
his  art  and  his  heart. 

The  recent  death  of  Mr.  Newell  —  "Orpheus 
C.  Kerr" — reminds  me  of  the  only  time  I  ever 
saw  —  or,  what  is  really  of  more  worth,  heard 
—  Adah  Isaacs  Menken. 

In  the  words  of  Little  Buttercup,  "many  years 
ago,  when  I  was  young  and  charming,"  I  used 
to  patronise  a  French  hairdresser  named  Gentil. 
One  morning  I  went  to  his  place,  and  on  enter- 
ing I  saw  a  swathed  and  betowelled  form 
occupying  the  operating-chair.  Apologising,  I 
was  about  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  when  the 
figure  turned  toward  me.  I  then  saw  one  of 
the  loveliest  faces  I  ever  beheld,  and  a  voice 
begged  me  to  remain.  Never,  either  before 
or  since,  have  I  heard  anything  so  perfect  in 

310 


ADAH  ISAACS  MENKEN 

sound  as  that  voice.  It  transfixed  me;  it  was 
like  the  softest,  sweetest  tones  of  an  aeolian 
harp.  My  admiration  roused  my  curiosity, — 
a  quality  usually  rather  inactive  with  me*  I 
took  an  early  opportunity  to  ask  Gentil  who 
his  beautiful-faced,  syren-voiced  patroness  was, 
and  he  told  me  it  was  Adah  Isaacs  Menken. 


THE  END 


311 


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IAURIO  1978 

JUN  2  Q  Mftd 

Snjn  M  v  1301 

rec'd  arc.  MAY  3  1  1984 

SENT  ON  ILL 

MAY  0  9  m 

U.  C,  BERKEI  PY 

FEB  1  7  1995 



MAR  2  j  K,95 

Clhui  ji  A  r 

^*~~^.  iOisi  LJL. 

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